University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

From  the  Collection  of 
Joseph  Z.  Todd 

Gift  of 
Hatherly  B.  Todd 


ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 


Vol.  XI 


THE  WRONG  BOX 
THE  EBB  TIDE     % 


*  THE  NOVELS  AND 
TALES  OF  ROBERT 
LOUIS    STEVENSON 


T 


HE  WRONG  BOX 
%  THE  EBB  TIDE 


SfePUBLISHED  IN 
NEW  YORK  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S 
SONS     S     %      1907     SB 


Copyright,  1889,  1895,  by 
Charles  Scribner's  Sons. 


THE  WRONG  BOX 


PAGE 

IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS        i 

IN  WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION 17 

THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE 35 

THE  MAGISTRATE  IN   THE  LUGGAGE  VAN 48 

MR.  GIDEON  FORSYTH  AND  THE  GIGANTIC  BOX  .  .  54 
THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:  PART  THE  FIRST  .  66 
IN    WHICH    WILLIAM     DENT    PITMAN     TAKES    LEGAL 

ADVICE 83 

IN  WHICH  MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY  .  97 
GLORIOUS      CONCLUSION     OF     MICHAEL     FINSBURY'S 

HOLIDAY 119 

GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND      .  137 

THE   MAESTRO  JIMSON       148 

POSITIVELY  THE   LAST  APPEARANCE  OF  THE   BROAD- 
WOOD   GRAND 167 

THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:  PART  THE  SECOND.  178 
WILLIAM     BENT    PITMAN     HEARS    OF    SOMETHING    TO 

HIS   ADVANTAGE 190 

THE  RETURN   OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE 207 

FINAL  ADJUSTMENT  OF  THE  LEATHER  BUSINESS     .     .  215 


CONTENTS 

THE  EBB   TIDE 
A  TRIO  AND   QUARTETTE 

Part  I 
THE  TRIO 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  Night  on  the  Beach 223 

II  Morning  on  the  Beach. — The  Three  Letters    ....  238 

III  The  Old  Calaboose.  —  Destiny  at  the  Door    ....  250 

IV  The  Yellow  Flag 262 

V  The  Cargo  of  Champagne 270 

VI    The  Partners 298 

Part  II 

THE  QUARTETTE 

VII  The  Pearl  Fisher .    .  311 

VIII  Better  Acquaintance 329 

IX  The  Dinner-Party 345 

X  The  Open  Door ^^6 

XI  David  and  Goliath 372 

XII  A  Tail-piece 396 


% 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  WRONG  BOX i 

Written  in  collaboration  with  Lloyd  Osboume. 
THE   EBB  TIDE 221 

A  TRIO   AND  OyARTETTE 
Written  in  collaboration  with  Lloyd  Osboume. 


PREFACE 


**  Nothing  like  a  little  judicious  levity,"  says  Michael  Finsbury  in  the 
text:  nor  can  any  better  excuse  be  found  for  the  volume  in  the 
reader's  hand.  The  authors  can  but  add  that  one  of  them  is  old 
enough  to  be  ashamed  of  himself,  and  the  other  young  enough  to 
learn  better. 

R.  L.  S. 

L.  O. 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

Writtbm  in  Collaboration  with  Lloyd  Osbournb 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

CHAPTER  I 

IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

HOW  very  little  does  the  amateur,  dwelling  at  home 
at  ease,  comprehend  the  labours  and  perils  of  the 
author,  and,  when  he  smilingly  skims  the  surface  of  a 
work  of  fiction,  how  little  does  he  consider  the  hours  of 
toil,  consultation  of  authorities,  researches  in  the  Bod- 
leian, correspondence  with  learned  and  illegible  Ger- 
mans —  in  one  word,  the  vast  scaffolding  that  was  first 
built  up  and  then  knocked  down,  to  while  away  an 
hour  for  him  in  a  railway  train !  Thus  I  might  begin 
this  tale  with  a  biography  of  Tonti  —  birthplace,  parent- 
age, genius  probably  inherited  from  his  mother,  remark- 
able instance  of  precocity,  etc. —  and  a  complete  treatise 
on  the  system  to  which  he  bequeathed  his  name.  The 
material  is  all  beside  me  in  a  pigeon-hole,  but  I  scorn  to 
appear  vainglorious.  Tonti  is  dead,  and  I  never  saw 
anyone  who  even  pretended  to  regret  him ;  and  as  for 
the  tontine  system,  a  word  will  suffice  for  all  the  pur- 
poses of  this  unvarnished  narrative. 
A  number  of  sprightly  youths  (the  more  the  merrier) 


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put  up  a  certain  sum  of  money,  which  is  then  funded  in 
a  pool  under  trustees ;  coming  on  for  a  century  later,  the 
proceeds  are  fluttered  for  a  moment  in  the  face  of  the 
last  survivor,  who  is  probably  deaf,  so  that  he  cannot 
even  hear  of  his  success  —  and  who  is  certainly  dying, 
so  that  he  might  just  as  well  have  lost.  The  peculiar 
poetry  and  even  humour  of  the  scheme  is  now  apparent, 
since  it  is  one  by  which  nobody  concerned  can  possibly 
profit ;  but  its  fme,  sportsmanlike  character  endeared  it 
to  our  grandparents. 

When  Joseph  Finsbury  and  his  brother  Masterman 
were  little  lads  in  white-frilled  trousers,  their  father  —  a 
well-to-do  merchant  in  Cheapside  —  caused  them  to 
join  a  small  but  rich  tontine  of  seven  and  thirty  lives. 
A  thousand  pounds  was  the  entrance  fee;  and  Joseph 
Finsbury  can  remember  to  this  day  the  visit  to  the  law- 
yer's, where  the  members  of  the  tontine  —  all  children 
like  himself —  were  assembled  together  and  sat  in  turn 
in  the  big  office-chair,  and  signed  their  names  with  the 
assistance  of  a  kind  old  gentleman  in  spectacles  and 
Wellington  boots.  He  remembers  playing  with  the 
children  afterward  on  the  lawn  at  the  back  of  the  law- 
yer's house,  and  a  battle  royal  that  he  had  with  a  brother 
tontiner,  who  had  kicked  his  shins.  The  sound  of 
war  called  forth  the  lawyer  from  where  he  was  dispens- 
ing cake  and  wine  to  the  assembled  parents  in  the  office, 
and  the  combatants  were  separated,^  and  Joseph's  spirit 
(for  he  was  the  smaller  of  the  two)  commended  by  the 
gentleman  in  the  Wellington  boots,  who  vowed  he 
had  been  just  such  another  at  the  same  age.  Joseph 
wondered  to  himself  if  he  had  worn  at  that  time  little 
Wellingtons  and  a  little  bald  head,  and  when  (in  bed  at 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

night)  he  grew  tired  of  telling  himself  stories  of  sea- 
fights,  he  used  to  dress  himself  up  as  the  old  gentle- 
man, and  entertain  other  little  boys  and  girls  with  cake 
and  wine. 

In  the  year  1840  the  thirty-seven  were  all  alive;  in 
1850  their  number  had  decreased  by  six;  in  1856  and 
1857  business  was  more  lively,  for  the  Crimea  and  the 
Mutiny  carried  off  no  less  than  nine.  There  remained 
in  1870  but  five  of  the  original  members,  and  at  the 
date  of  my  story,  including  the  two  Finsburys,  but 
three. 

By  this  time  Masterman  was  in  his  seventy-third  year; 
he  had  long  complained  of  the  effects  of  age,  had  long 
since  retired  from  business,  and  now  lived  in  absolute 
seclusion  under  the  roof  of  his  son  Michael,  the  well- 
known  solicitor.  Joseph,  on  the  other  hand,  was  still 
up  and  about,  and  still  presented  but  a  semi-venerable 
figure  on  the  streets  in  which  he  loved  to  wander.  This 
was  the  more  to  be  deplored,  because  Masterman  had 
led  (even  to  the  least  particular)  a  model  British  life. 
Industry,  regularity,  respectability,  and  a  preference  for 
the  four  per  cents,  are  understood  to  be  the  very  founda- 
tions of  a  green  old  age.  All  these  Masterman  had  emi- 
nently displayed,  and  here  he  was,  ab  agendo,  at  seventy- 
three;  while  Joseph,  barely  two  years  younger,  and  in 
the  most  excellent  preservation,  had  disgraced  himself 
through  life  by  idleness  and  eccentricity.  Embarked  in 
the  leather  trade,  he  had  early  wearied  of  business,  for 
which  he  was  supposed  to  have  small  parts.  A  taste 
for  general  information,  not  promptly  checked,  had  soon 
begun  to  sap  his  manhood.  There  is  no  passion  more 
debilitating  to  the  mind,  unless,  perhaps,  it  be  that  itch 

3 


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of  public  speaking  which  it  not  infrequently  accompa- 
nies or  begets.  The  two  were  conjoined  m  the  case  of 
Joseph;  the  acute  stage  of  this  double  malady,  that  in 
which  the  patient  delivers  gratuitous  lectures,  soon  de- 
clared itself  with  severity,  and  not  many  years  had 
passed  over  his  head  before  he  would  have  travelled 
thirty  miles  to  address  an  infant-school.  He  was  no 
student;  his  reading  was  confined  to  elementary  text- 
books and  the  daily  papers ;  he  did  not  even  fly  as  high 
as  cyclopaedias;  life,  he  would  say,  was  his  volume. 
His  lectures  were  not  meant  (he  would  declare)  for 
college  professors;  they  were  addressed  direct  to  **the 
great  heart  of  the  people,"  and  the  heart  of  the  people 
must  certainly  be  sounder  than  its  head,  for  his  lucubra- 
tions were  received  with  favour.  That  entitled,  **  How 
to  Live  Cheerfully  on  Forty  Pounds  a  Year,"  created  a 
sensation  among  the  unemployed.  ''Education:  Its 
Aims,  Objects,  Purposes,  and  Desirability,"  gained  him 
the  respect  of  the  shallow-minded.  As  for  his  cele- 
brated essay  on  '*  Life  Insurance  Regarded  in  its  Relation 
to  the  Masses,"  read  before  the  Working  Men's  Mutual 
Improvement  Society,  Isle  of  Dogs,  it  was  received 
with  a  **  literal  ovation  "  by  an  unintelligent  audience  of 
both  sexes.  And  so  marked  was  the  effect  that  he  was 
next  year  elected  honorary  president  of  the  institution, 
an  office  of  less  than  no  emolument,  since  the  holder 
was  expected  to  come  down  with  a  donation,  but  one 
which  highly  satisfied  his  self-esteem. 

While  Joseph  was  thus  building  himself  up  a  reputa- 
tion among  the  more  cultivated  portion  of  the  ignorant, 
his  domestic  life  was  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  orphans. 
The  death  of  his  younger  brother  Jacob  saddled  him 

4 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

with  the  charge  of  two  boys,  Morris  and  John ;  and  in 
the  course  of  the  same  year  his  family  was  still  further 
swelled  by  the  addition  of  a  little  girl,  the  daughter  of 
John  Henry  Hazeltine,  Esq.,  a  gentleman  of  small  prop- 
erty and  fewer  friends.  He  had  met  Joseph  only  once, 
at  a  lecture-hall  in  Holloway;  but  from  that  formative 
experience  he  returned  home  to  make  a  new  will,  and 
consign  his  daughter  and  her  fortune  to  the  lecturer. 
Joseph  had  a  kindly  disposition;  and  yet  it  was  not 
without  reluctance  that  he  accepted  this  new  responsi- 
bility, advertised  for  a  nurse,  and  purchased  a  second- 
hand perambulator.  Morris  and  John  he  made  more 
readily  welcome ;  not  so  much  because  of  the  tie  of  con- 
sanguinity as  because  the  leather  business  (in  which  he 
hastened  to  invest  their  fortune  of  thirty  thousand 
pounds)  had  recently  exhibited  inexplicable  symptoms 
of  decline.  A  young  but  capable  Scot  was  chosen  as 
manager  to  the  enterprise,  and  the  cares  of  business 
never  again  afflicted  Joseph  Finsbury.  Leaving  his 
charges  in  the  hands  of  the  capable  Scot  (who  was  mar- 
ried), he  began  his  extensive  travels  on  the  Continent 
and  in  Asia  Minor. 

With  a  polyglot  Testament  in  one  hand  and  a  phrase- 
book  in  the  other,  he  groped  his  way  among  the  speak- 
ers of  eleven  European  languages.  The  first  of  these 
guides  is  hardly  applicable  to  the  purposes  of  the  philo- 
sophic traveller,  and  even  the  second  is  designed  more 
expressly  for  the  tourist  than  for  the  expert  in  life.  But 
he  pressed  interpreters  into  his  service  —  whenever  he 
could  get  their  services  for  nothing  —  and  by  one  means 
and  another  filled  many  note-books  with  the  results  oi 
his  researches. 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

In  these  wanderings  he  spent  several  years,  and  onl}; 
returned  to  England  when  the  increasing  age  of  his 
charges  needed  his  attention.  The  two  lads  had  been 
placed  in  a  good  but  economical  school,  where  they  had 
received  a  sound  commercial  education;  which  was 
somewhat  awkward,  as  the  leather  business  was  by  no 
means  in  a  state  to  court  inquiry.  In  fact,  when  Joseph 
went  over  his  accounts  preparatory  to  surrendering  his 
trust,  he  was  dismayed  to  discover  that  his  brother's 
fortune  had  not  increased  by  his  stewardship ;  even  by 
making  over  to  his  two  wards  every  penny  he  had  in 
the  world,  there  would  still  be  a  deficit  of  seven  thou- 
sand eight  hundred  pounds.  When  these  facts  were 
communicated  to  the  two  brothers  in  the  presence  of  a 
lawyer,  Morris  Finsbury  threatened  his  uncle  with  all 
the  terrors  of  the  law,  and  was  only  prevented  from 
taking  extreme  steps  by  the  advice  of  the  professional 
man. 

''You  cannot  get  blood  from  a  stone,"  observed  the 
lawyer. 

And  Morris  saw  the  point,  and  came  to  terms  with 
his  uncle.  On  the  one  side,  Joseph  gave  up  all  that  he 
possessed  and  assigned  to  his  nephew  his  contingent 
interest  in  the  tontine,  already  quite  a  hopeful  specula- 
tion. On  the  other,  Morris  agreed  to  harbour  his  uncle 
and  Miss  Hazeltine  (who  had  come  to  grief  with  the 
rest),  and  to  pay  to  each  of  them  one  pound  a  month 
as  pocket-money.  The  allowance  was  amply  sufficient 
for  the  old  man ;  it  scarce  appears  how  Miss  Hazeltine 
contrived  to  dress  upon  it;  but  she  did,  and  what  is 
more  she  never  complained.  She  was,  indeed,  sin- 
cerely attached  to  her  incompetent  guardian.     He  had 

6 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

never  been  unkind ;  his  age  spoke  for  him  loudly ;  there 
was  something  appealing  in  his  whole-souled  quest  of 
knowledge  and  innocent  delight  in  the  smallest  mark 
of  admiration ;  and  though  the  lawyer  had  warned  her 
she  was  being  sacrificed,  Julia  had  refused  to  add  to  the 
perplexities  of  Uncle  Joseph. 

In  a  large,  dreary  house  in  John  Street,  Bloomsbury, 
these  four  dwelt  together;  a  family  in  appearance,  in 
reality  a  financial  association.  Julia  and  Uncle  Joseph 
were,  of  course,  slaves ;  John,  a  gentleman  with  a  taste 
for  the  banjo,  the  music-hall,  the  Gaiety  bar,  and  the 
sporting  papers,  must  have  been  anywhere  a  secondary 
figure ;  and  the  cares  and  delights  of  empire  devolved 
entirely  upon  Morris.  That  these  are  inextricably  inter- 
mixed is  one  of  the  commonplaces  with  which  the  bland 
essayist  consoles  the  incompetent  and  the  obscure,  but 
in  the  case  of  Morris  the  bitter  must  have  largely  out- 
weighed the  sweet.  He  grudged  no  trouble  to  himself, 
he  spared  none  to  others ;  he  called  the  servants  in  the 
morning,  he  served  out  the  stores  with  his  own  hand, 
he  took  soundings  of  the  sherry,  he  numbered  the  re- 
mainder biscuits;  painful  scenes  took  place  over  the 
weekly  bills,  and  the  cook  was  frequently  impeached, 
and  the  tradespeople  came  and  hectored  with  him  in 
the  back  parlour,  upon  a  question  of  three  farthings. 
The  superficial  might  have  deemed  him  a  miser;  in  his 
own  eyes  he  was  simply  a  man  who  had  been  de- 
frauded; the  world  owed  him  seven  thousand  eight 
hundred  pounds,  and  he  intended  that  the  world  should 
pay. 

But  it  was  in  his  dealings  with  Joseph  that  Morris's 
character  particularly  shone.     His  uncle  was  a  rather 

7 


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gambling  stock  in  which  he  had  invested  heavily ;  and 
he  spared  no  pains  in  nursing  the  security.  The  old 
man  was  seen  monthly  by  a  physician,  whether  he  was 
well  or  ill.  His  diet,  his  raiment,  his  occasional  out- 
ings, now  to  Brighton,  now  to  Bournemouth,  were 
doled  out  to  him  like  pap  to  infants.  In  bad  weather 
he  must  keep  the  house.  In  good  weather,  by  half- 
past  nine,  he  must  be  ready  in  the  hall;  Morris  would 
see  that  he  had  gloves  and  that  his  shoes  were  sound ; 
and  the  pair  would  start  for  the  leather  business  arm  in 
arm.  The  way  there  was  probably  dreary  enough,  for 
there  was  no  pretence  of  friendly  feeling;  Morris  had 
never  ceased  to  upbraid  his  guardian  with  his  defalca- 
tion and  to  lament  the  burthen  of  Miss  Hazeltine;  and 
Joseph,  though  he  was  a  mild  enough  soul,  regarded 
his  nephew  with  something  very  near  akin  to  hatred. 
But  the  way  there  was  nothing  to  the  journey  back;  for 
the  mere  sight  of  the  place  of  business,  as  well  as  every 
detail  of  its  transactions,  was  enough  to  poison  life  for 
any  Finsbury. 

Joseph's  name  was  still  over  the  door;  it  was  he  who 
still  signed  the  cheques ;  but  this  was  only  policy  on  the 
part  of  Morris,  and  designed  to  discourage  other  mem- 
bers of  the  Tontine.  In  reality,  the  business  was  entirely 
his ;  and  he  found  it  an  inheritance  of  sorrows.  He  tried 
to  sell  it,  and  the  offers  he  received  were  quite  derisory. 
He  tried  to  extend  it,  and  it  was  only  the  liabilities  he 
succeeded  in  extending;  to  restrict  it,  and  it  was  only  the 
profits  he  managed  to  restrict.  Nobody  had  ever  made 
money  out  of  that  concern  except  the  capable  Scot,  who 
retired  (after  his  discharge)  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Banff 
and  built  a  castle  with  his  profits.     The  memory  of  this 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

fallacious  Caledonian,  Morris  would  revile  daily,  as  he 
sat  in  the  private  office  opening  his  mail,  with  old  Jo- 
seph at  another  table,  sullenly  awaiting  orders,  or  sav- 
agely affixing  signatures  to  he  knew  not  what.  And 
when  the  man  of  the  heather  pushed  cynicism  so  far  as 
to  send  him  the  announcement  of  his  second  marriage 
(to  Davida,  eldest  daughter  of  the  Rev.  Alexander 
McCraw)  it  was  really  supposed  that  Morris  would  have 
had  a  fit. 

Business  hours,  in  the  Finsbury  leather  trade,  had  been 
cut  to  the  quick ;  even  Morris's  strong  sense  of  duty  to 
himself  was  not  strong  enough  to  dally  within  those 
walls  and  under  the  shadow  of  that  bankruptcy ;  and 
presently  the  manager  and  the  clerks  would  draw  a  long 
breath,  and  compose  themselves  for  another  day  of  pro- 
crastination. Raw  Haste,  on  the  authority  of  my  Lord 
Tennyson,  is  half-sister  to  Delay ;  but  the  Business  Hab- 
its are  certainly  her  uncles.  Meanwhile,  the  leather- 
merchant  would  lead  his  living  investment  back  to  John 
Street  like  a  puppy  dog;  and  having  there  immured  him 
in  the  hall,  would  depart  for  the  day  on  the  quest  of 
seal  rings,  the  only  passion  of  his  life.  Joseph  had  more 
than  the  vanity  of  man,  he  had  that  of  lecturers.  He 
owned  he  was  in  fault;  although  more  sinned  against 
(by  the  capable  Scot)  than  sinning;  but  had  he  steeped 
his  hands  in  gore,  he  would  still  not  deserve  to  be  thus 
dragged  at  the  chariot-wheels  of  a  young  man,  to  sit  a 
captive  in  the  halls  of  his  own  leather  business,  to  be 
entertained  with  mortifying  comments  on  his  whole 
career — to  have  his  costume  examined,  his  collar  pulled 
up,  the  presence  of  his  mittens  verified,  and  to  be  taken 
out  and  brought  home  in  custody,  like  an  infant  with  a 

9 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

nurse.  At  the  thought  of  it  his  soul  would  swell  with 
venom,  and  he  would  make  haste  to  hang  up  his  hat 
and  coat  and  the  detested  mittens,  and  slink  up-stairs 
to  Julia  and  his  note-books.  The  drawing-room  at  least 
was  sacred  from  Morris ;  it  belonged  to  the  old  man  and 
the  young  girl;  it  was  there  that  she  made  her  dresses; 
it  was  there  that  he  inked  his  spectacles  over  the  regis- 
tration of  disconnected  facts  and  the  calculation  of  in- 
significant statistics. 

Here  he  would  sometimes  lament  his  connection  with 
the  Tontine.  "If  it  were  not  for  that,"  he  cried  one 
afternoon,  '*he  would  not  care  to  keep  me.  I  might  be 
a  free  man,  Julia.  And  I  could  so  easily  support  myself 
by  giving  lectures." 

''To  be  sure  you  could,"  said  she;  ''and  I  think  it 
one  of  the  meanest  things  he  ever  did  to  deprive  you 
of  that  amusement.  There  were  those  nice  people 
at  the  Isle  of  Cats  (wasn't  it.?*)  who  wrote  and  asked 
you  so  very  kindly  to  give  them  an  address.  I  did  think 
he  might  have  let  you  go  to  the  Isle  of  Cats." 

"  He  is  a  man  of  no  intelligence, "  cried  Joseph.  "  He 
lives  here  literally  surrounded  by  the  absorbing  spectacle 
of  life,  and  for  all  the  good  it  does  him,  he  might  just  as 
well  be  in  his  coffm.  Think  of  his  opportunities!  The 
heart  of  any  other  young  man  would  burn  within  him  at 
the  chance.  The  amount  of  information  that  I  have  it 
in  my  power  to  convey,  if  he  would  only  listen,  is  a  thing 
that  beggars  language,  Julia." 

"Whatever  you  do,  my  dear,  you  mustn't  excite 
yourself,"  said  Julia;  "for  you  know,  if  you  look  at  all 
ill,  the  doctor  will  be  sent  for. " 

"  That  is  very  true,"  returned  the  old  man,  humbly. 

lO 


IN  WHICH  MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

'  *  I  will  compose  myself  with  a  little  study. "  He  thumbed 
his  gallery  of  note-books.  "I  wonder,"  he  said,  "I 
wonder  (since  I  see  your  hands  are  occupied)  whether 
it  might  not  interest  you " 

'*  Why,  of  course  it  would,"  cried  Julia.  ''  Read  me 
one  of  your  nice  stories,  there's  a  dear! " 

He  had  the  volume  down  and  his  spectacles  upon  his 
nose  instanter,  as  though  to  forestall  some  possible  re- 
tractation. "What  I  propose  to  read  to  you,"  said  he, 
skimming  through  the  pages,  '*  is  the  notes  of  a  highly 
important  conversation  with  a  Dutch  courier  of  the  name 
of  David  Abbas,  which  is  the  Latin  for  abbot.  Its  results 
are  well  worth  the  money  it  cost  me,  for  as  Abbas  at 
first  appeared  somewhat  impatient,  I  was  induced  to 
(what  is,  I  believe,  singularly  called)  stand  him  drink. 
It  runs  only  to  about  five  and  twenty  pages.  Yes,  here 
it  is."     He  cleared  his  throat,  and  began  to  read. 

Mr.  Finsbury  (according  to  his  own  report)  contrib- 
uted about/our  hundred  and  ninety-nine  five-hundredths 
of  the  interview,  and  elicited  from  Abbas  literally  noth- 
ing. It  was  dull  for  Julia,  who  did  not  require  to  listen ; 
for  the  Dutch  courier,  who  had  to  answer,  it  must  have 
been  a  perfect  nightmare.  It  would  seem  as  if  he  had 
consoled  himself  by  frequent  applications  to  the  bottle; 
it  would  even  seem  that  (toward  the  end)  he  had  ceased 
to  depend  on  Joseph's  frugal  generosity,  and  called  for 
the  flagon  on  his  own  account.  The  effect,  at  least,  of 
some  mellowing  influence  was  visible  in  the  record: 
Abbas  became  suddenly  a  willing  witness;  he  began  to 
volunteer  disclosures;  and  Julia  had  just  looked  up  from 
her  seam  with  something  like  a  smile,  when  Morris  burst 
into  the  house,  eagerly  calling  for  his  uncle,  and  the  next 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

instant  plunged  into  the  room,  waving  in  the  air  the 
evening  paper. 

It  was  indeed  with  great  news  that  he  came  charged. 
The  demise  was  announced  of  Lieutenant-General  Sir 
Glascow  Biggar,  K.C.S.I.,  K.C.M.G.,  etc.,  and  the  prize 
of  the  tontine  now  lay  between  the  Finsbury  brothers. 
Here  was  Morris's  opportunity  at  last.  The  brothers 
had  never,  it  is  true,  been  cordial.  When  word  came 
that  Joseph  was  in  Asia  Minor,  Masterman  had  ex- 
pressed himself  with  irritation.  ''I  call  it  simply  inde- 
cent," he  had  said.  "  Mark  my  words  —  we  shall  hear 
of  him  next  at  the  North  Pole."  And  these  bitter  ex- 
pressions had  been  reported  to  the  traveller  on  his  re- 
turn. What  was  worse,  Masterman  had  refused  to 
attend  the  lecture  on  "Education;  its  aims,  objects, 
purpose,  and  desirability,"  although  invited  to  the  plat- 
form. Since  then,  the  brothers  had  not  met.  On  the 
other  hand,  they  never  had  openly  quarrelled;  Joseph 
(by  Morris's  orders)  was  prepared  to  waive  the  advan- 
tage of  his  juniority ;  Masterman  had  enjoyed  all  through 
life  the  reputation  of  a  man  neither  greedy  nor  unfair. 
Here,  then,  were  all  the  elements  of  compromise  as- 
sembled; and  Morris,  suddenly  beholding  his  seven 
thousand  eight  hundred  pounds  restored  to  him,  and 
himself  dismissed  from  the  vicissitudes  of  the  leather 
trade,  hastened  the  next  morning  to  the  office  of  his 
cousin  Michael. 

Michael  was  something  of  a  public  character. 
Launched  upon  the  law  at  a  very  early  age,  and  quite 
without  protectors,  he  had  become  a  trafficker  in  shady 
affairs.  He  was  known  to  be  the  man  for  a  lost  cause, 
it  was  known  he  could  extract  testimony  from  a  stone, 

12 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

and  interest  from  a  gold  mine;  and  his  office  was  be- 
sieged in  consequence  by  all  that  numerous  class  of 
persons  who  have  still  some  reputation  to  lose,  and 
fmd  themselves  upon  the  point  of  losing  it;  by  those 
who  have  made  undesirable  acquaintances,  who  have 
mislaid  a  compromising  correspondence,  or  who  are 
blackmailed  by  their  own  butlers.  In  private  life, 
Michael  was  a  man  of  pleasure ;  but  it  was  thought  his 
dire  experience  at  the  office  had  gone  far  to  sober  him, 
and  it  was  known  that  (in  the  matter  of  investments) 
he  preferred  the  solid  to  the  brilliant.  What  was  yet 
more  to  the  purpose,  he  had  been  all  his  life  a  consis- 
tent scoffer  at  the  Finsbury  tontine. 

It  was  therefore  with  little  fear  for  the  result  that 
Morris  presented  himself  before  his  cousin,  and  pro- 
ceeded feverishly  to  set  forth  his  scheme.  For  near 
upon  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  lawyer  suffered  him  to 
dwell  upon  its  manifest  advantages  uninterrupted. 
Then  Michael  rose  from  his  seat,  and  ringing  for  his 
clerk,  uttered  a  single  clause. 

**It  won't  do,  Morris." 

It  was  in  vain  that  the  leather  merchant  pleaded  and 
reasoned,  and  returned  day  after  day  to  plead  and  rea- 
son. It  was  in  vain  that  he  offered  a  bonus  of  one 
thousand,  of  two  thousand,  of  three  thousand  pounds; 
in  vain  that  he  offered,  in  Joseph's  name,  to  be  content 
with  only  one-third  of  the  pool.  Still  there  came  the 
same  answer:  "It  won't  do." 

**I  can't  see  the  bottom  of  this,"  he  said  at  last. 
''You  answer  none  of  my  arguments,  you  haven't  a 
word  to  say.     For  my  part,  I  believe  it's  malice." 

The  lawyer  smiled  at  him  benignly.     "  You  may  be- 

»3 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

lieve  one  thing,"  said  he;  "whatever  else  I  do,  I  am 
not  going  to  gratify  any  of  your  curiosity.  You  see  I 
am  a  trifle  more  communicative  to-day,  because  this  is 
our  last  interview  upon  the  subject." 

"Our  last  interview!  "  cried  Morris. 

"  The  stirrup-cup,  dear  boy,"  returned  Michael.  "  I 
can't  have  my  business  hours  encroached  upon.  And 
by  the  by,  have  you  no  business  of  your  own?  Are 
there  no  convulsions  in  the  leather  trade  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  to  be  malice,"  repeated  Morris,  doggedly. 
"You  always  hated  and  despised  me  from  a  boy." 

"No,  no — not  hated,"  returned  Michael,  soothingly. 
"I  rather  like  you  than  otherwise;  there's  such  a  per- 
manent surprise  about  you,  you  look  so  dark  and  attrac- 
tive from  a  distance.  Do  you  know  that  to  the  naked 
eye  you  look  romantic.^ — like  what  they  call  a  man 
with  a  history.  And  indeed,  from  all  that  I  can  hear 
the  history  of  the  leather  trade  is  full  of  incident." 

"Yes,"  said  Morris,  disregarding  these  remarks,  "it's 
no  use  coming  here,  1  shall  see  your  father." 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't,"  said  Michael.  "Nobody  shall 
see  my  father." 

"I  should  like  to  know  why,"  cried  his  cousin. 

"I  never  make  any  secret  of  that,"  replied  the  law- 
yer.    "He  is  too  ill." 

"If  he  is  as  ill  as  you  say,"  cried  the  other,  "the 
more  reason  for  accepting  my  proposal.  I  will  see 
him." 

"Will  you.?"  said  Michael,  and  he  rose  and  rang  for 
his  clerk. 

It  was  now  the  time,  according  to  Sir  Faraday  Bond, 
the  medical  baronet  whose  name  is  so  familiar  at  the 

14 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  SUSPECTS 

foot  of  bulletins,  that  Joseph  (the  poor  Golden  Goose) 
should  be  removed  into  the  purer  air  of  Bournemouth; 
and  for  that  uncharted  wilderness  of  villas  the  family 
now  shook  off  the  dust  of  Bloomsbury:  Julia  delighted, 
because  at  Bournemouth  she  sometimes  made  acquain- 
tances; John  in  despair,  for  he  was  a  man  of  city  tastes; 
Joseph  indifferent  where  he  was,  so  long  as  there  was 
pen  and  ink  and  daily  papers,  and  he  could  avoid  mar- 
tyrdom at  the  office;  Morris  himself,  perhaps,  not  dis- 
pleased to  pretermit  these  visits  to  the  city,  and  have  a 
quiet  time  for  thought.  He  was  prepared  for  any  sac- 
rifice ;  all  he  desired  was  to  get  his  money  again  and 
clear  his  feet  of  leather;  and  it  would  be  strange,  since 
he  was  so  modest  in  his  desires  and  the  pool  amounted 
to  upward  of  a  hundred  and  sixteen  thousand  pounds 
—  it  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  he  could  find  no  way 
of  influencing  Michael.  "If  I  could  only  guess  his 
reason,"  he  repeated  to  himself;  and  by  day,  as  he 
walked  in  Branksome  woods,  and  by  night,  as  he 
turned  upon  his  bed,  and  at  meal  times,  when  he  for- 
got to  eat,  and  in  the  bathing  machine,  when  he  forgot 
to  dress  himself,  that  problem  was  constantly  before 
him :  why  had  Michael  refused  ? 

At  last  one  night,  he  burst  into  his  brother's  room  and 
woke  him. 

"What's  all  this?"  asked  John. 

"Julia  leaves  this  place  to-morrow,"  replied  Morris; 
"she  must  go  up  to  town  and  get  the  house  ready,  and 
find  servants.     We  shall  all  follow  in  three  days." 

"Oh,  bray vo!"  cried  John.     "But  why?" 

"I've  found  it  out,  John,"  returned  his  brother,  gently. 

"It?  _  What?"  inquired  John. 

15 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

''Why  Michael  won't  compromise,"  said  Morris. 
''It's  because  he  can't.  It's  because  Masterman's  dead, 
and  he's  keeping  it  dark." 

''Golly!"  cried  the  impressionable  John.  "But  what's 
the  use  ?  why  does  he  do  it,  anyway  ?  " 

"To  defraud  us  of  the  tontine,"  said  his  brother. 

"He  couldn't;  you  have  to  have  a  doctor's  certificate," 
objected  John. 

"Did  you  never  hear  of  venal  doctors  .^"  inquired  Mor- 
ris. "They're  as  common  as  blackberries ;  you  can  pick 
'em  up  for  three  pound  ten  a  head." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  it  under  fifty  if  I  were  a  sawbones," 
ejaculated  John. 

"And  then,  Michael,"  continued  Morris,  "is  in  the 
very  thick  of  it.  All  his  clients  have  come  to  grief;  his 
whole  business  is  rotten  eggs.  If  any  man  could  arrange 
it,  he  could;  and  depend  upon  it,  he  has  his  plan  all 
straight;  and  depend  upon  it,  it's  a  good  one,  for  he's 
clever,  and  be  damned  to  him !  But  I'm  clever,  too ;  and 
I'm  desperate.  I  lost  seven  thousand  eight  hundred 
pounds  when  I  was  an  orphan  at  school." 

"  Oh,  don't  be  tedious,"  interrupted  John.  "You've 
lost  far  more  already  trying  to  get  it  back." 


16 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION 

Some  days  later,  accordingly,  the  three  males  of  this 
depressing  family  might  have  been  observed  (by  a  reader 
of  G.  P.  R.  James)  taking  their  departure  from  the  East 
Station  of  Bournemouth.  The  weather  was  raw  and 
changeable,  and  Joseph  was  arrayed  in  consequence  ac- 
cording to  the  principles  of  Sir  Faraday  Bond,  a  man  no 
less  strict  (as  is  well  known)  on  costume  than  on  diet. 
There  are  few  polite  invalids  who  have  not  lived,  or 
tried  to  live,  by  that  punctilious  physician's  orders. 
''Avoid  tea,  madam,"  the  reader  has  doubtless  heard 
him  say,  ''avoid  tea,  fried  liver,  antimonial  wine,  and 
bakers'  bread.  Retire  nightly  at  10.45  j  ^^^  clothe  your- 
self (if  you  please)  throughout  in  hygienic  flannel.  Ex- 
ternally, the  fur  of  the  marten  is  indicated.  Do  not  for- 
get to  procure  a  pair  of  health  boots  at  Messrs.  Dall  & 
Grumble's. "  And  he  has  probably  called  you  back, 
even  after  you  have  paid  your  fee,  to  add  with  sten- 
torian emphasis:  "I  had  forgotten  one  caution:  avoid 
kippered  sturgeon,  as  you  would  the  very  devil ! "  The 
unfortunate  Joseph  was  cut  to  the  pattern  of  Sir  Fara- 
day in  every  button;  he  was  shod  with  the  health  boot; 
his  suit  was  of  genuine  ventilating  cloth ;  his  shirt  of 
hygienic  flannel,  a  somewhat  dingy  fabric ;  and  he  was 

»7 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

draped  to  the  knees  in  the  inevitable  great-coat  of  mar- 
ten's fur.  The  very  railway  porters  at  Bournemouth 
(which  was  a  favourite  station  of  the  doctor's)  marked 
the  old  gentleman  for  a  creature  of  Sir  Faraday.  There 
was  but  one  evidence  of  personal  taste,  a  vizarded 
forage-cap;  from  this  form  of  headpiece,  since  he  had 
fled  from  a  dying  jackal  on  the  plains  of  Ephesus,  and 
weathered  a  bora  in  the  Adriatic,  nothing  could  divorce 
our  traveller. 

The  three  Finsburys  mounted  into  their  compartment 
and  fell  immediately  to  quarrelling,  a  step  unseemly  in 
itself  and  (in  this  case)  highly  unfortunate  for  Morris. 
Had  he  lingered  a  moment  longer  by  the  window,  this 
tale  need  never  have  been  written.  For  he  might  then 
have  observed  (as  the  porters  did  not  fail  to  do)  the 
arrival  of  a  second  passenger  in  the  uniform  of  Sir 
Faraday  Bond.  But  he  had  other  matters  on  hand 
which  he  judged  (God  knows  how  erroneously)  to  be 
more  important. 

"I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing,"  he  cried,  resuming  a 
discussion  which  had  scarcely  ceased  all  morning. 
**The  bill  is  not  yours;  it  is  mine." 

".It  is  payable  to  me,"  returned  the  old  gentleman, 
with  an  air  of  bitter  obstinacy.  * '  I  will  do  what  I  please 
with  my  own  property." 

The  bill  was  one  for  eight  hundred  pounds,  which 
had  been  given  him  at  breakfast  to  endorse,  and  which 
he  had  simply  pocketed. 

"  Hear  him, Johnny ! "  cried  Morris.  '*  His  property! 
the  very  clothes  upon  his  back  belong  to  me." 

"Let  him  alone,"  said  John,  "I'm  sick  of  both  of 
you." 

i8 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION 

**That  is  no  way  to  speak  of  your  uncle,  sir,"  cried 
Joseph.  "I  will  not  endure  this  disrespect.  You  are 
a  pair  of  exceedingly  forward,  impudent,  and  ignorant 
young  men,  and  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  to  put 
an  end  to  the  whole  business." 

"Oh,  skittles!"  said  the  graceful  John. 

But  Morris  was  not  so  easy  in  his  mind.  This  unusual 
act  of  insubordination  had  already  troubled  him ;  and 
these  mutinous  words  now  sounded  ominously  in  his 
ears.  He  looked  at  the  old  gentleman  uneasily.  Upon 
one  occasion  many  years  before,  when  Joseph  was  de- 
livering a  lecture,  the  audience  had  revolted  in  a  body ; 
finding  their  entertainer  somewhat  dry,  they  had  taken 
the  question  of  amusement  into  their  own  hands;  and 
the  lecturer  (along  with  the  board  schoolmaster,  the 
Baptist  clergyman,  and  a  working-man's  candidate,  who 
made  up  his  bodyguard)  was  ultimately  driven  from  the 
scene.  Morris  had  not  been  present  on  that  fatal  day; 
if  he  had,  he  would  have  recognised  a  certain  fighting 
glitter  in  his  uncle's  eye,  and  a  certain  chewing  move- 
ment of  his  lips,  as  old  acquaintances.  But  even  to  the 
inexpert  these  symptoms  breathed  of  something  dan- 
gerous. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Morris.  "I  have  no  wish  to 
bother  you  further  till  we  get  to  London." 

Joseph  did  not  so  much  as  look  at  him  in  answer; 
with  tremulous  hands  he  produced  a  copy  of  the  Brit- 
ish Mechanic,  and  ostentatiously  buried  himself  in  its 
perusal. 

"I  wonder  what  can  make  him  so  cantankerous.?" 
reflected  the  nephew.  "I  don't  like  the  look  of  it  at 
all."     And  he  dubiously  scratched  his  nose. 

»9 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

The  train  travelled  forth  into  the  world,  bearing  along 
with  it  the  customary  freight  of  obliterated  voyagers, 
and  along  with  these  old  Joseph,  affecting  immersion  in 
his  paper,  and  John,  slumbering  over  the  columns  of  the 
Pink  Un,  and  Morris,  revolving  in  his  mind  a  dozen 
grudges,  and  suspicions,  and  alarms.  It  passed  Christ 
Church  by  the  sea,  Heme  with  its  pinewoods,  Ringwood 
on  its  mazy  river.  A  little  behind  time,  but  not  much 
for  the  South  Western,  it  drew  up  at  the  platform  of  a 
station,  in  the  midst  of  the  New  Forest,  the  real  name 
of  which  (in  case  the  railway  company  ''might  have 
the  law  of  me  ")  I  shall  veil  under  the  alias  of  Brown- 
dean. 

Many  passengers  put  their  heads  to  the  window,  and 
among  the  rest  an  old  gentleman  on  whom  1  willingly 
dwell,  for  I  am  nearly  done  with  him  now,  and  (in  the 
whole  course  of  the  present  narrative)  I  am  not  in  the 
least  likely  to  meet  another  character  so  decent.  His 
name  is  immaterial,  not  so  his  habits.  He  had  passed 
his  life  wandering  in  a  tweed  suit  on  the  continent  of 
Europe ;  and  years  of  Galignani' s  Messenger  having  at 
length  undermined  his  eyesight,  he  suddenly  remem- 
bered the  rivers  of  Assyria  and  came  to  London  to  con- 
sult an  oculist.  From  the  oculist  to  the  dentist,  and 
from  both  to  the  physician,  the  step  appears  inevitable; 
presently  he  was  in  the  hands  of  Sir  Faraday,  robed  in 
ventilating  cloth  and  sent  to  Bournemouth ;  and  to  that 
domineering  baronet  (who  was  his  only  friend  upon  his 
native  soil)  he  was  now  returning  to  report.  The  case 
of  these  tweed-suited  wanderers  is  unique.  We  have 
all  seen  them  entering  the  table  d'hote  (at  Spezzia,  or 
Gratz,  or  Venice)  with  a  genteel  melancholy  and  a 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION 

faint  appearance  of  having  been  to  India  and  not  suc- 
ceeded ;  in  the  offices  of  many  hundred  hotels,  they  are 
known  by  name;  and  yet,  if  the  whole  of  this  wander- 
ing cohort  were  to  disappear  to-morrow,  their  absence 
would  be  wholly  unremarked.  How  much  more,  if 
only  one  —  say  this  one  in  the  ventilating  cloth — should 
vanish!  He  had  paid  his  bills  at  Bournemouth;  his 
worldly  effects  were  all  in  the  van  in  two  portmanteaus, 
and  these  after  the  proper  interval  would  be  sold  as  un- 
claimed baggage  to  a  Jew ;  Sir  Faraday's  butler  would  be 
a  half-crown  poorer  at  the  year's  end,  and  the  hotel- 
keepers  of  Europe  about  the  same  date  would  be  mourn- 
ing a  small  but  quite  observable  decline  in  profits.  And 
that  would  be  literally  all.  Perhaps  the  old  gentleman 
thought  something  of  the  sort,  for  he  looked  melan- 
choly enough  as  he  pulled  his  bare,  gray  head  back  into 
the  carriage,  and  the  train  smoked  under  the  bridge  and 
forth,  with  ever  quickening  speed,  across  the  mingled 
heaths  and  woods  of  the  New  Forest. 

Not  many  hundred  yards  beyond  Browndean,  how- 
ever, a  sudden  jarring  of  brakes  set  everybody's  teeth 
on  edge,  and  there  was  a  brutal  stoppage.  Morris  Fins- 
bury  was  aware  of  a  confused  uproar  of  voices,  and 
sprang  to  the  window.  Women  were  screaming,  men 
were  tumbling  from  the  windows  on  the  track,  the 
guard  was  crying  to  them  to  stay  where  they  were;  at 
the  same  time  the  train  began  to  gather  way  and  move 
very  slowly  backward  toward  Browndean;  and  the 
next  moment,  all  these  various  sounds  were  blotted  out 
in  the  apocalyptic  whistle  and  the  thundering  onslaught 
of  the  down  express. 

The  actual  collision  Morris  did  not  hear.     Perhaps  he 

31 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

fainted.  He  had  a  wild  dream  of  having  seen  the  car- 
riage double  up  and  fall  to  pieces  like  a  pantomime  trick ; 
and  sure  enough,  when  he  came  to  himself,  he  was 
lying  on  the  bare  earth  and  under  the  open  sky.  His 
head  ached  savagely ;  he  carried  his  hand  to  his  brow 
and  was  not  surprised  to  see  it  red  with  blood.  The 
air  was  filled  with  an  intolerable,  throbbing  roar,  which 
he  expected  to  find  die  away  with  the  return  of  con- 
sciousness ;  and  instead  of  that  it  seemed  but  to  swell  the 
louder  and  to  pierce  the  more  cruelly  through  his  ears. 
It  was  a  raging,  bellowing  thunder,  like  a  boiler-rivet- 
ing factory. 

And  now  curiosity  began  to  stir,  and  he  sat  up  and 
looked  about  him.  The  track  at  this  point  ran  in  a  sharp 
curve  about  a  wooded  hillock;  all  of  the  near  side  was 
heaped  with  the  wreckage  of  the  Bournemouth  train ; 
that  of  the  express  was  mostly  hidden  by  the  trees ;  and 
just  at  the  turn,  under  clouds  of  vomiting  steam  and 
piled  about  with  cairns  of  living  coal,  lay  what  remained 
of  the  two  engines,  one  upon  the  other.  On  the  heathy 
margin  of  the  line  were  many  people  running  to  and  fro, 
and  crying  aloud  as  they  ran,  and  many  others  lying 
motionless  like  sleeping  tramps. 

Morris  suddenly  drew  an  inference.  ' '  There  has  been 
an  accident!  "  thought  he,  and  was  elated  at  his  perspi- 
cacity. Alrnost  at  the  same  time  his  eye  lighted  on 
John,  who  lay  close  by  as  white  as  paper.  *'  Poor  old 
John!  poor  old  cove!"  he  thought,  the  schoolboy  ex- 
pression popping  forth  from  some  forgotten  treasury, 
and  he  took  his  brother's  hand  in  his  with  childish  ten- 
derness. It  was  perhaps  the  touch  that  recalled  him; 
at  least  John  opened  his  eyes,  sat  suddenly  up,  and  after 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION 

several  ineffectual  movements  of  his  lips,  *' What's  the 
row  ?  "  said  he,  in  a  phantom  voice. 

The  din  of  that  devil's  smithy  still  thundered  in  their 
ears.  **Let  us  get  away  from  that,"  Morris  cried,  and 
pointed  to  the  vomit  of  steam  that  still  spouted  from  the 
broken  engines.  And  the  pair  helped  each  other  up, 
and  stood  and  quaked  and  wavered  and  stared  about 
them  at  the  scene  of  death. 

Just  then  they  were  approached  by  a  party  of  men 
who  had  already  organized  themselves  for  the  purposes 
of  rescue. 

''Are  you  hurt?"  cried  one  of  these,  a  young  fellow 
with  the  sweat  streaming  down  his  pallid  face,  and  who 
by  the  way  he  was  treated  was  evidently  the  doctor. 

Morris  shook  his  head,  and  the  young  man,  nodding 
grimly,  handed  him  a  bottle  of  some  spirit. 

''Take  a  drink  of  that,"  he  said,  "your  friend  looks 
as  if  he  needed  it  badly.  We  want  every  man  we  can 
get,"  he  added;  "there's  terrible  work  before  us,  and 
nobody  should  shirk.  If  you  can  do  no  more  you  can 
carry  a  stretcher." 

The  doctor  was  hardly  gone  before  Morris,  under  the 
spur  of  the  dram,  awoke  to  the  full  possession  of  his 
wits. 

"  My  God ! "  he  cried.     "  Uncle  Joseph ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  "  where  can  he  be  ?  He  can't  be 
far  off.     I  hope  the  old  party  isn't  damaged." 

"Come  and  help  me  to  look,"  said  Morris,  with  a 
snap  of  savage  determination  strangely  foreign  to  his 
ordinary  bearing;  and  then,  for  one  moment,  he  broke 
forth,  "If  he's  dead!"  he  cried,  and  shook  his  fist  at 
heaven. 

23 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

To  and  fro  the  brothers  hurried,  staring  in  the  faces 
of  the  wounded,  or  turning  the  dead  upon  their  backs. 
They  must  have  thus  examined  forty  people,  and  still 
there  was  no  word  of  Uncle  Joseph.  But  now  the 
course  of  their  search  brought  them  near  the  centre  of 
the  collision,  where  the  boilers  were  still  blowing  off 
steam  with  a  deafening  clamour.  It  was  a  part  of  the 
field  not  yet  gleaned  by  the  rescuing  party.  The  ground, 
especially  on  the  margin  of  the  wood,  was  full  of  in- 
equalities—  here  a  pit,  there  a  hillock  surmounted  with 
a  bush  of  furze.  It  was  a  place  where  many  bodies 
might  lie  concealed,  and  they  beat  it  like  pointers  after 
game.  Suddenly  Morris,  who  was  leading,  paused  and 
reached  forth  his  index  with  a  tragic  gesture.  John 
followed  the  direction  of  his  brother's  hand. 

In  the  bottom  of  a  sandy  hole  lay  something  that  had 
once  been  human.  The  face  had  suffered  severely,  and 
it  was  unrecognisable;  but  that  was  not  required.  The 
snowy  hair,  the  coat  of  marten,  the  ventilating  cloth, 
the  hygienic  flannel  —  everything  down  to  the  health 
boots  from  Messrs.  Dall  &  Grumble's,  identified  the  body 
as  that  of  Uncle  Joseph.  Only  the  forage  cap  must  have 
been  lost  in  the  convulsion,  for  the  dead  man  was  bare- 
headed. 

"The  poor  old  beggar!"  said  John,  with  a  touch  of 
natural  feeling;  *'I  would  give  ten  pounds  we  hadn't 
chivied  him  in  the  train !  " 

But  there  was  no  sentiment  in  the  face  of  Morris  as  he 
gazed  upon  the  dead.  Gnawing  his  nails,  with  intro- 
verted eyes,  his  brow  marked  with  the  stamp  of  tragic 
indignation  and  tragic  intellectual  effort,  he  stood  there 
silent.     Here  was  a  last  injustice;  he  had  been  robbed 

24 


IN   WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES   ACTION 

while  he  was  an  orphan  at  school,  he  had  been  lashed  to  a 
decadent  leather  business,  he  had  been  saddled  with 
Miss  Hazeltine,  his  cousin  had  been  defrauding  him  of 
the  Tontine,  and  he  had  borne  all  this,  we  might  almost 
say,  with  dignity,  and  now  they  had  gone  and  killed  his 
uncle! 

**  Here! "  he  said,  suddenly,  ''take  his  heels,  we  must 
get  him  into  the  woods.  I'm  not  going  to  have  any- 
body find  this." 

**0,  fudge!"  said  John,  "where's  the  use?" 

"  Do  what  I  tell  you,"  spirted  Morris,  as  he  took  the 
corpse  by  the  shoulders.  "  Am  I  to  carry  him  my- 
self.?" 

They  were  close  upon  the  borders  of  the  wood ;  in 
ten  or  twelve  paces  they  were  under  cover;  and  a  little 
farther  back,  in  a  sandy  clearing  of  the  trees,  they  laid 
their  burthen  down,  and  stood  and  looked  at  it  with 
loathing. 

*' What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?"  whispered  John. 

**Bury  him,  to  be  sure!"  responded  Morris,  and  he 
opened  his  pocket  knife  and  began  feverishly  to  dig. 

"  You'll  never  make  a  hand  of  it  with  that,"  objected 
the  other. 

' '  If  you  won't  help  me,  you  cowardly  shirk, "  screamed 
Morris,  "  you  can  go  to  the  devil!  " 

"It's  the  childishest  folly,"  said  John,  ''but  no  man 
shall  call  me  a  coward,"  and  he  began  to  help  his  brother 
grudgingly. 

The  soil  was  sandy  and  light,  but  matted  with  the 
roots  of  the  surrounding  firs.  Gorse  tore  their  hands ; 
and  as  they  baled  the  sand  from  the  grave,  it  was  often 
discoloured  with  their  blood.     An  hour  passed  of  un- 

25 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

remitting  energy  upon  the  part  of  Morris,  of  lukewarm 
help  on  that  of  John;  and  still  the  trench  was  barely 
nine  inches  in  depth.  Into  this  the  body  was  rudely 
flung;  sand  was  piled  upon  it,  and  then  more  sand 
must  be  dug,  and  gorse  had  to  be  cut  to  pile  on  that; 
and  still  from  one  end  of  the  sordid  mound  a  pair  of  feet 
projected  and  caught  the  light  upon  their  patent-leather 
toes.  But  by  this  time  the  nerves  of  both  were  shaken ; 
even  Morris  had  enough  of  his  grisly  task;  and  they 
skulked  off  like  animals  into  the  thickest  of  the  neigh- 
bouring covert. 

*'It's  the  best  that  we  can  do,"  said  Morris,  sitting 
down. 

**And  now,"  said  John,  *' perhaps  you'll  have  the 
politeness  to  tell  me  what  it's  all  about. " 

*'Upon  my  word,"  cried  Morris,  *'if  you  do  not 
understand  for  yourself,  I  almost  despair  of  telling  you." 

"Oh,  of  course  it's  some  rot  about  the  tontine,"  re- 
turned the  other.  "  But  it's  the  merest  nonsense.  We've 
lost  it,  and  there's  an  end." 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Morris,  **  Uncle  Masterman  is  dead. 
I  know  it,  there's  a  voice  here  that  tells  me  so." 

"Well,  and  so  is  Uncle  Joseph,"  said  John. 

**  He's  not  dead  unless  I  choose,"  returned  Morris. 

''And  come  to  that,"  cried  John,  ** if  you're  right, 
and  Uncle  Masterman's  been  dead  ever  so  long,  all  we 
have  to  do  is  to  tell  the  truth  and  expose  Michael." 

' '  You  seem  to  think  Michael  is  a  fool, "  sneered  Morris. 
**  Can't  you  understand  he's  been  preparing  this  fraud 
for  years  .?  He  has  the  whole  thing  ready:  the  nurse, 
the  doctor,  the  undertaker,  all  bought,  the  certificate  all 
ready  but  the  date !    Let  him  get  wind  of  this  business 

36 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION 

and  you  mark  my  words,  Uncle  Masterman  will  die  in 
two  days  and  be  buried  in  a  week.  But  see  here, 
Johnny ;  what  Michael  can  do,  I  can  do.  If  he  plays  a 
game  of  bluff,  so  can  1.  If  his  father  is  to  live  forever, 
by  God,  so  shall  my  uncle !  " 

'Mt's  illegal,  ain't  it?"  said  John. 

'*A  man  must  have  some  moral  courage,"  replied 
Morris  with  dignity. 

*'  And  then  suppose  you're  wrong  ?  suppose  Uncle 
Masterman's  alive  and  kicking  ?  " 

'*  Well,  even  then,"  responded  the  plotter,  *'  we  are  no 
worse  than  we  were  before ;  in  fact,  we're  better.  Uncle 
Masterman  must  die  some  day ;  as  long  as  Uncle  Joseph 
was  alive,  he  might  have  died  any  day ;  but  we're  out 
of  all  that  trouble  now :  there's  no  sort  of  limit  to  the 
game  that  I  propose — it  can  be  kept  up  till  Kingdom 
Come." 

'*  If  I  could  only  see  how  you  meant  to  set  about  it! " 
sighed  John.  ''  But  you  know,  Morris,  you  always 
were  such  a  bungler." 

**rd  like  to  know  what  I  ever  bungled,"  cried  Mor- 
ris; "I  have  the  best  collection  of  signet  rings  in 
London." 

'*Well,  you  know,  there's  the  leather  business,  "sug- 
gested the  other.     ''That's  considered  rather  a  hash." 

It  was  a  mark  of  singular  self-control  in  Morris  that  he 
suffered  this  to  pass  unchallenged  and  even  unresented. 

"About  the  business  in  hand,"  said  he,  ''once  we 
can  get  him  up  to  Bloomsbury,  there's  no  sort  of  trouble. 
We  bury  him  in  the  cellar,  which  seems  made  for  it; 
and  then  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  start  out  and  find  a  venal 
doctor." 

2^ 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

**Why  can't  we  leave  him  where  he  is  ?  "  asked  John. 

**  Because  we  know  nothing  about  the  country,"  re- 
torted Morris.  '*This  wood  may  be  a  regular  lovers' 
walk.  Turn  your  mind  to  the  real  difficulty.  How  are 
we  to  get  him  up  to  Bloomsbury  ?" 

Various  schemes  were  mooted  and  rejected.  The  rail- 
way station  at  Browndean  was  of  course  out  of  the  ques- 
tion ;  for  it  would  now  be  a  centre  of  curiosity  and  gossip, 
and  (of  all  things)  they  would  be  least  able  to  despatch 
a  dead  body  without  remark.  John  feebly  proposed 
getting  an  ale-cask  and  sending  it  as  beer,  but  the  objec- 
tions to  this  course  were  so  overwhelming  that  Morris 
scorned  to  answer.  The  purchase  of  a  packing-case 
seemed  equally  hopeless;  for  why  should  two  gentle- 
men without  baggage  of  any  kind  require  a  packing- 
case  ?  They  would  be  more  likely  to  require  clean 
linen. 

**  We  are  working  on  wrong  lines,"  cried  Morris  at 
i'ast.  "The  thing  must  be  gone  about  more  carefully. 
Suppose,  now,"  he  added,  excitedly,  speaking  by  fits 
and  starts  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud,  ''suppose  we 
rent  a  cottage  by  the  month :  a  householder  can  buy  a 
packing-case  without  remark.  Then  suppose  we  clear 
the  people  out  to-day,  get  the  packing-case  to-night, 
and  to-morrow  I  hire  a  carriage  —  or  a  cart  that  we  could 
drive  ourselves  —  and  take  the  box,  or  whatever  we  get, 
to  Ringwood  or  Lyndhurst  or  somewhere,  we  could 
label  it  'specimens,'  don't  you  see  ? — Johnny,  I  believe 
I've  hit  the  nail  at  last." 

'*  Well,  it  sounds  more  feasible,"  admitted  John. 

* '  Of  course,  we  must  take  assumed  names, "  continued 
Morris.     *'  It  would  never  do  to  keep  our  own.     What 

28 


IN   WHICH   MORR!S  TAKES  ACTION 

do  you  say  to  '  Masterman '  itself  ?  It  sounds  quiet  and 
dignified." 

*'l  will  not  take  the  name  of  Masterman,"  returned 
his  brother;  **  you  may,  if  you  like.  I  shall  call  myself 
Vance  —  the  Great  Vance;  positively  the  last  six  nights. 
There's  some  go  in  a  name  like  that." 

'  *  Vance !  "  cried  Morris.  ' '  Do  you  think  we  are  play- 
ing a  pantomime  for  our  amusement  ?  There  was  never 
anybody  named  Vance  who  wasn't  a  music-hall  singer." 

*' That's  the  beauty  of  it,"  returned  John,  ''it  gives 
you  some  standing  at  once.  You  may  call  yourself 
Fortescue  till  all's  blue,  and  nobody  cares;  but  to  be 
Vance  gives  a  man  a  natural  nobility." 

"But  there's  lots  of  other  theatrical  names,"  cried 
Morris.     "Leybourne,  Irving,  Brough,  Toole " 

"Devil  a  one  will  I  take,"  returned  his  brother,  "I 
am  going  to  have  my  little  lark  out  of  this  as  well  as 
you." 

"Very  well,"  said  Morris,  who  perceived  that  John 
was  determined  to  carry  his  point,  "I  shall  be  Robert 
Vance." 

"And  I  shall  be  George  Vance,"  cried  John,  "the 
only  original  George  Vance!  Rally  round  the  only 
original !  '* 

Repairing  as  well  as  they  were  able  the  disorder  of 
their  clothes,  Finsbury  brothers  returned  to  Browndean 
by  a  circuitous  route  in  quest  of  luncheon  and  a  suitable 
cottage.  It  is  not  always  easy  to  drop  at  a  moment's 
notice  on  a  furnished  residence  in  a  retired  locality ;  but 
fortune  presently  introduced  our  adventurers  to  a  deaf 
carpenter,  a  man  rich  in  cottages  of  the  required  de- 
scription, and  unaffectedly  eager  to  supply  their  wants. 

29 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

The  second  place  they  visited,  standing,  as  it  did,  about 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  any  neighbours,  caused  them  to 
exchange  a  glance  of  hope.  On  a  nearer  view  the  place 
was  not  without  depressing  features.  It  stood  in  a 
marshy-looking  hollow  of  a  heath ;  tall  trees  obscured 
its  windows;  the  thatch  visibly  rotted  on  the  rafters; 
and  the  walls  were  stained  with  splashes  of  unwhole- 
some green.  The  rooms  were  small,  the  ceilings  low, 
the  furniture  merely  nominal;  a  strange  chill  and  a 
haunting  smell  of  damp  pervaded  the  kitchen;  and  the 
bedroom  boasted  only  of  one  bed. 

Morris,  with  a  view  to  cheapening  the  place,  remarked 
on  this  defect. 

"Well,"  returned  the  man,  **if  you  can't  sleep  two 
abed,  you'd  better  take  a  villa  residence. " 

*'  And  then,"  pursued  Morris,  *'  there's  no  water;  how 
do  you  get  your  water  ?  " 

"  We  fill  that  from  the  spring,"  replied  the  carpenter, 
pointing  to  a  big  barrel  that  stood  beside  the  door. 
' '  The  spring  ain't  so  very  far  off,  after  all,  and  it's  easy 
brought  in  buckets.     There's  a  bucket  there." 

Morris  nudged  his  brother  as  they  examined  the  wa- 
ter-butt; it  was  new,  and  very  solidly  constructed  for  its 
office;  if  anything  had  been  wanting  to  decide  them,  this 
eminently  practicable  barrel  would  have  turned  the  scale. 
A  bargain  was  promptly  struck:,  the  month's  rent  was 
paid  upon  the  nail,  and  about  an  hour  later  Finsbury 
brothers  might  have  been  observed  returning  to  the 
blighted  cottage,  having  along  with  them  the  key,  which 
was  the  symbol  of  their  tenancy,  a  spirit-lamp,  with 
which  they  fondly  told  themselves  they  would  be  able 
to  cook,  a  pork-pie  of  suitable  dimensions,  and  a  quart 

30 


IN  WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES  ACTION 

of  the  worst  whiskey  in  Hampshire.  Nor  was  this  all 
they  had  effected ;  already  (under  the  plea  that  they  were 
landscape-painters)  they  had  hired  for  dawn  on  the 
morrow  a  light  but  solid  two-wheeled  cart;  so  that, 
when  they  entered  in  their  new  character,  they  were 
able  to  tell  themselves  that  the  back  of  the  business  was 
already  broken. 

John  proceeded  to  get  tea;  while  Morris,  foraging 
about  the  house,  was  presently  delighted  by  discovering 
the  lid  of  the  water-butt  upon  the  kitchen  shelf.  Here, 
then,  was  the  packing-case  complete ;  in  the  absence  of 
straw,  the  blankets  (which  he  himself,  at  least,  had  not 
the  smallest  intention  of  using  for  their  present  purpose) 
would  exactly  take  the  place  of  packing;  and  Morris,  as 
the  difficulties  began  to  vanish  from  his  path,  rose  almost 
to  the  brink  of  exultation.  There  was,  however,  one 
difficulty  not  yet  faced,  one  upon  which  his  whole 
scheme  depended.  Would  John  consent  to  remain  alone 
in  the  cottage  ?  He  had  not  yet  dared  to  put  the  question. 

It  was  with  high  good  humour  that  the  pair  sat  down 
to  the  deal  table,  and  proceeded  to  fall  to  on  the  pork- 
pie.  Morris  retailed  the  discovery  of  the  lid,  and  the 
Great  Vance  was  pleased  to  applaud  by  beating  on  the 
table  with  his  fork  in  true  music-hall  style. 

*' That's  the  dodge,"  he  cried.  "I  always  said  a 
water-butt  was  what  you  wanted  for  this  business." 

**  Of  course,"  said  Morris,  thinking  this  a  favourable 
opportunity  to  prepare  his  brother,  "  of  course  you  must 
stay  on  in  this  place  till  I  give  the  word ;  I'll  give  out 
that  uncle  is  resting  in  the  New  Forest.  It  would  not 
do  for  both  of  us  to  appear  in  London ;  we  could  never 
conceal  the  absence  of  the  old  man." 

31 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

John's  jaw  dropped. 

*'0h,  come!  "  he  cried.  "You  can  stay  in  this  hole 
yourself.     1  won't." 

The  colour  came  into  Morris's  cheeks.  He  saw  that 
he  must  win  his  brother  at  any  cost. 

*'  You  must  please  remember,  Johnny,"  he  said,  "the 
amount  of  the  tontine.  If  I  succeed,  we  shall  have  each 
fifty  thousand  to  place  to  our  bank  account;  ay,  and 
nearer  sixty." 

"But  if  you  fail,"  returned  John,  "what  then? 
What'll  be  the  colour  of  our  bank  account  in  that 
case  ?  " 

"I  will  pay  all  expenses,"  said  Morris,  with  an  in- 
ward struggle;  "you  shall  lose  nothing." 

"Well,"  said  John,  with  a  laugh,  "if  the  ex-s  are 
yours,  and  half  profits  mine,  I  don't  mind  remaining 
here  for  a  couple  of  days." 

"A  couple  of  days! "  cried  Morris,  who  was  begin- 
ning to  get  angry  and  controlled  himself  with  difficulty. 
"Why,  you  would  do  more  to  win  five  pounds  on  a 
horse  race ! " 

"  Perhaps  I  would,"  returned  the  Great  Vance;  "  it's 
the  artistic  temperament." 

"This  is  monstrous!  "  burst  out  Morris.  "  I  take  all 
risks;  I  pay  all  expenses;  I  divide  profits;  and  you 
won't  take  the  slightest  pains  to  help  me.  It's  not  de- 
cent; it's  not  honest;  it's  not  even  kind." 

"But  suppose,"  objected  John,  who  was  considera- 
bly impressed  by  his  brother's  vehemence,  "suppose 
that  Uncle  Masterman  is  alive  after  all,  and  lives  ten 
years  longer;  must  I  rot  here  all  that  time.^" 

"Of  course  not,"  responded  Morris,  in  a  more  con- 
32 


IN   WHICH   MORRIS  TAKES   ACTION 

ciliatory  tone.  *'  I  only  ask  a  month  at  the  outside;  and 
if  Uncle  Masterman  is  not  dead  by  that  time  you  can  go 
abroad." 

"Go  abroad?"  repeated  John,  eagerly.  *'Why 
shouldn't  I  go  at  once  ?  Tell  'em  that  Joseph  and  I  are 
seeing  life  in  Paris." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Morris. 

"Well,  but  look  here,"  said  John;  "it's  this  house, 
it's  such  a  pig-sty,  it's  so  dreary  and  damp.  You  said 
yourself  that  it  was  damp." 

"Only  to  the  carpenter,"  Morris  distinguished,  "and 
that  was  to  reduce  the  rent.  But  really  you  know,  now 
we're  in  it,  I've  seen  worse." 

"And  what  am  I  to  do?"  complained  the  victim. 
"  How  can  I  entertain  a  friend  ?  " 

"My  dear  Johnny,  if  you  don't  think  the  tontine 
worth  a  little  trouble,  say  so;  and  I'll  give  the  busi- 
ness up." 

"You're  dead  certain  of  the  figures,  I  suppose?'* 
asked  John.  "  Well " —  with  a  deep  sigh  — "send  me 
the  Pink  Un  and  all  the  comic  papers  regularly.  I'll 
face  the  music." 

As  afternoon  drew  on,  the  cottage  breathed  more 
thrillingly  of  its  native  marsh;  a  creeping  chill  inhab- 
ited its  chambers;  the  fire  smoked;  and  a  shower  of 
rain,  coming  up  from  the  Channel  on  a  slant  of  wind, 
tingled  on  the  window-panes.  At  intervals,  when  the 
gloom  deepened  towards  despair,  Morris  would  produce 
the  whiskey  bottle,  and  at  first  John  welcomed  the  di- 
version —  not  for  long.  It  has  been  said  this  spirit  was 
the  worst  in  Hampshire;  only  those  acquainted  with 
the  county  can  appreciate  the  force  of  that  superlative; 

33 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

and  at  length  even  the  Great  Vance  (who  was  no  con- 
noisseur) waved  the  decoction  from  his  lips.  The  ap- 
proach of  dusk,  feebly  combated  with  a  single  tallow 
candle,  added  a  touch  of  tragedy;  and  John  suddenly 
stopped  whistling  through  his  fingers  —  an  art  to  the 
practice  of  which  he  had  been  reduced  —  and  bitterly 
lamented  his  concessions. 

"1  can't  stay  here  a  month,"  he  cried.  ''No  one 
could.  The  thing's  nonsense,  Morris.  The  parties  that 
lived  in  the  Bastille  would  rise  against  a  place  like  this. " 

With  an  admirable  affectation  of  indifference,  Morris 
proposed  a  game  of  pitch-and-toss.  To  what  will  not 
the  diplomatist  condescend!  It  was  John's  favourite 
game;  indeed,  his  only  game  —  he  had  found  all  the 
rest  too  intellectual  —  and  he  played  it  with  equal  skill 
and  good  fortune.  To  Morris  himself,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  whole  business  was  detestable ;  he  was  a  bad 
pitcher,  he  had  no  luck  in  tossing,  and  he  was  one  who 
suffered  torments  when  he  lost.  But  John  was  in  a 
dangerous  humour,  and  his  brother  was  prepared  for 
any  sacrifice. 

By  seven  o'clock,  Morris,  with  incredible  agony,  had 
lost  a  couple  of  half-crowns.  Even  with  the  tontine  be- 
fore his  eyes,  this  was  as  much  as  he  could  bear;  and 
remarking  that  he  would  take  his  revenge  some  other 
time,  he  proposed  a  bit  of  supper  and  a  grog. 

Before  they  had  made  an  end  of  this  refreshment,  it 
was  time  to  be  at  work.  A  bucket  of  water  for  pres- 
ent necessities  was  withdrawn  from  the  water-butt, 
which  was  then  emptied  and  rolled  before  the  kitchen 
fire  to  dry;  and  the  two  brothers  set  forth  on  their  ad- 
venture under  a  starless  heaven. 

34 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   LECTURER   AT  LARGE 

Whether  mankind  is  really  partial  to  happiness  is  an 
open  question.  Not  a  month  passes  by,  but  some  cher- 
ished son  runs  off  into  the  merchant  service,  or  some 
valued  husband  decamps  to  Texas  with  a  lady  help; 
clergymen  have  fled  from  their  parishioners;  and  even 
judges  have  been  known  to  retire.  To  an  open  mind, 
it  will  appear  (upon  the  whole)  less  strange  that  Joseph 
Finsbury  should  have  been  led  to  entertain  ideas  of  es- 
cape. His  lot  (1  think  we  may  say)  was  not  a  happy 
one.  My  friend,  Mr.  Morris,  with  whom  I  travel  up 
twice  or  thrice  a  week  from  Snaresbrook  Park,  is  cer- 
tainly a  gentleman  whom  I  esteem ;  but  he  was  scarce 
a  model  nephew.  As  for  John,  he  is  of  course  an  ex- 
cellent fellow ;  but  if  he  was  the  only  link  that  bound 
one  to  a  home,  I  think  the  most  of  us  would  vote  for 
foreign  travel.  In  the  case  of  Joseph,  John  (if  he  were 
a  link  at  all)  was  not  the  only  one;  endearing  bonds 
had  long  enchained  the  old  gentleman  to  Bloomsbury; 
and  by  these  expressions  I  do  not  in  the  least  refer 
to  Julia  Hazeltine  (of  whom,  however,  he  was  fond 
enough),  but  to  that  collection  of  manuscript  note- 
books in  which  his  life  lay  buried.  That  he  should 
ever  have  made  up  his  mind  to  separate  himself  from 

35 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

these  collections,  and  go  forth  upon  the  world  with  no 
other  resources  than  his  memory  supplied,  is  a  circum- 
stance  highly  pathetic  in  itself,  and  but  little  creditable 
to  the  wisdom  of  his  nephews. 

The  design,  or  at  least  the  temptation,  was  already 
some  months  old;  and  when  a  bill  for  eight  hundred 
pounds,  payable  to  himself,  was  suddenly  placed  in 
Joseph's  hand,  it  brought  matters  to  an  issue.  He  re- 
tained  that  bill,  which,  to  one  of  his  frugality,  meant 
wealth;  and  he  promised  himself  to  disappear  among 
the  crowds  at  Waterloo,  or  (if  that  should  prove  im- 
possible) to  slink  out  of  the  house  in  the  course  of  the 
evening  and  melt  like  a  dream  into  the  millions  of 
London.  By  a  peculiar  interposition  of  providence 
and  railway  mismanagement,  he  had  not  so  long  to 
wait. 

He  was  one  of  the  first  to  come  to  himself  and  scram- 
ble to  his  feet,  after  the  Browndean  catastrophe,  and  he 
had  no  sooner  remarked  his  prostrate  nephews,  than 
he  understood  his  opportunity  and  fled.  A  man  of  up- 
ward of  seventy,  who  has  just  met  with  a  railway  acci- 
dent, and  who  is  cumbered  besides  with  the  full  uni- 
form of  Sir  Faraday  Bond,  is  not  very  likely  to  flee  far, 
but  the  wood  was  close  at  hand  and  offered  the  fugitive 
at  least  a  temporary  covert.  Hither,  then,  the  old  gen- 
tleman skipped  with  extraordinary  expedition,  and  being 
somewhat  winded  and  a  good  deal  shaken,  here  he  lay 
down  in  a  convenient  grove  and  was  presently  over- 
whelmed by  slumber.  The  way  of  fate  is  often  highly 
entertaining  to  the  looker-on,  and  it  is  certainly  a  pleas- 
ant circumstance,  that  while  Morris  and  John  were 
delving  in  the  sand  to  conceal  the  body  of  a  total 

36 


THE  LECTURER  AT   LARGE 

Stranger,  their  uncle  lay  in  dreamless  sleep  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  deeper  in  the  wood. 

He  was  awakened  by  the  jolly  note  of  a  bugle  from 
the  neighbouring  highroad,  where  a  char-a-banc  was 
bowling  by  with  some  belated  tourists.  The  sound 
cheered  his  old  heart,  it  directed  his  steps  into  the  bar- 
gain, and  soon  he  was  on  the  highway,  looking  east 
and  west  from  under  his  vizor,  and  doubtfully  revolving 
what  he  ought  to  do.  A  deliberate  sound  of  wheels 
arose  in  the  distance,  and  then  a  cart  was  seen  ap- 
proaching, well  filled  with  parcels,  driven  by  a  good- 
natured  looking  man  on  a  double  bench,  and  displaying 
on  a  board  the  legend,  "\.  Chandler,  carrier."  In  the 
infamously  prosaic  mind  of  Mr.  Finsbury,  certain  streaks 
of  poetry  survived  and  were  still  efficient;  they  had 
carried  him  to  Asia  Minor  as  a  giddy  youth  of  forty, 
and  now,  in  the  first  hours  of  his  recovered  freedom, 
they  suggested  to  him  the  idea  of  continuing  his  flight 
in  Mr.  Chandler's  cart.  It  would  be  cheap;  properly 
broached,  it  might  even  cost  nothing,  and  after  years 
of  mittens  and  hygienic  flannel,  his  heart  leaped  out  to 
meet  the  notion  of  exposure. 

Mr.  Chandler  was  perhaps  a  little  puzzled  to  find  so 
old  a  gentleman,  so  strangely  clothed,  and  begging  for 
a  lift  on  so  retired  a  roadside.  But  he  was  a  good- 
natured  man,  glad  to  do  a  service,  and  so  he  took  the 
stranger  up ;  and  he  had  his  own  idea  of  civility,  and  so 
he  asked  no  questions.  Silence,  in  fact,  was  quite  good 
enough  for  Mr.  Chandler;  but  the  cart  had  scarcely  be- 
gun to  move  forward  ere  he  found  himself  involved  in  a 
one-sided  conversation. 

**I  can  see,"  began  Mr.  Finsbury,  **by  the  mixture 

37 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

of  parcels  and  boxes  that  are  contained  in  your  cart, 
each  marked  with  its  individual  label,  and  by  the  good 
Flemish  mare  you  drive,  that  you  occupy  the  post  of 
carrier  in  that  great  English  system  of  transport,  which, 
with  all  its  defects,  is  the  pride  of  our  country." 

'*Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Chandler  vaguely,  for  he 
hardly  knew  what  to  reply,  *'them  parcels'  posts  has 
done  us  carriers  a  world  of  harm. " 

**I  am  not  a  prejudiced  man,"  continued  Joseph  Fins- 
bury.  '*As  a  young  man  I  travelled  much.  Nothing 
was  too  small  or  too  obscure  for  me  to  acquire.  At  sea 
I  studied  seamanship,  learned  the  complicated  knots 
employed  by  mariners,  and  acquired  the  technical  terms. 
At  Naples,  I  would  learn  the  art  of  making  macaroni ; 
at  Nice,  the  principles  of  making  candied  fruit.  I  never 
went  to  the  opera  without  first  buying  the  book  of  the 
piece,  and  making  myself  acquainted  with  the  princi- 
pal airs  by  picking  them  out  on  the  piano  with  one 
fmger." 

**You  must  have  seen  a  deal,  sir,"  remarked  the  car- 
rier, touching  up  his  horse;  **I  wish  I  could  have  had 
your  advantages." 

*'Do  you  know  how  often  the  word  whip  occurs  in 
the  Old  Testament?"  continued  the  old  gentleman. 
"One  hundred  and  (if  I  remember  exactly)  forty-seven 
times." 

*'Do  it  indeed,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Chandler.  "I  never 
should  have  thought  it." 

"The  Bible  contains  three  million  five  hundred  and 
one  thousand  two  hundred  and  forty-nine  letters.  Of 
verses  I  believe  there  are  upward  of  eighteen  thousand. 
There  have  been  many  editions  of  the  Bible;  Wiclif  was 

38 


THE  LECTURER  AT   LARGE 

the  first  to  introduce  it  into  England,  about  the  year 
1^00.  The  '  Paragraph  Bible,' as  it  is  called,  is  a  well- 
known  edition,  and  is  so  called  because  it  is  divided  into 
paragraphs.  The  'Breeches  Bible'  is  another  well- 
known  instance,  and  gets  its  name  either  because  it  was 
printed  by  one  Breeches,  or  because  the  place  of  publi- 
cation bore  that  name." 

The  carrier  remarked  drily  that  he  thought  that  was 
only  natural,  and  turned  his  attention  to  the  more  con- 
genial task  of  passing  a  cart  of  hay;  it  was  a  matter  of 
some  difficulty,  for  the  road  was  narrow,  and  there  was 
a  ditch  on  either  hand. 

"I  perceive,"  began  Mr.  Finsbury,  when  they  had 
successfully  passed  the  cart,  "that  you  hold  your  reins 
with  one  hand;  you  should  employ  two." 

**Well,  I  like  that! "  cried  the  carrier,  contemptuously. 
"Why?" 

**You  do  not  understand,"  continued  Mr.  Finsbury. 
"  What  I  tell  you  is  a  scientific  fact,  and  reposes  on  the 
theory  of  the  lever,  a  branch  of  mechanics.  There  are 
some  very  interesting  little  shilling-books  upon  the  field 
of  study,  which  I  should  think  a  man  in  your  station 
would  take  a  pleasure  to  read.  But  I  am  afraid  you 
have  not  cultivated  the  art  of  observation ;  at  least  we 
have  now  driven  together *for  some  time,  and  I  cannot 
remember  that  you  have  contributed  a  single  fact.  This 
is  a  very  false  principle,  my  good  man.  For  instance,  I 
do  not  know  if  you  observed  that  (as  you  passed  the 
hay-cart  man)  you  took  your  left  ?  " 

**0f  course  I  did,"  cried  the  carrier,  who  was  now 
getting  belligerent;  ''he'd  have  the  law  on  me  if  I 
hadn't." 

39 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

''In  France,  now," resumed  the  old  man,  **and  also, 
I  believe,  in  the  United  States  of  America,  you  would 
have  taken  the  right." 

"  I  would  not,"  cried  Mr.  Chandler,  indignantly.  *'  1 
would  have  taken  the  left." 

*'I  observe,"  again  continued  Mr.  Finsbury,  scorning 
to  reply,  "that  you  mend  the  dilapidated  parts  of  your 
harness  with  string.  I  have  always  protested  against 
this  carelessness  and  slovenliness  of  the  English  poor. 
In  an  essay  that  I  once  read  before  an  appreciative  au- 
dience  " 

"  It  ain't  string,"  said  the  carrier,  sullenly,  "  it's  pack- 
thread." 

"I  have  always  protested,"  resumed  the  old  man, 
"that  in  their  private  and  domestic  life,  as  well  as  in 
their  labouring  career,  the  lower  classes  of  this  country 
are  improvident,  thriftless,  and  extravagant.  A  stitch 
in  time " 

"Who  the  devil  are  the  lower  classes.?"  cried  the 
carrier.  "You  are  the  lower  classes  yourself!  If  I 
thought  you  were  a  blooming  aristocrat  I  shouldn't 
have  given  you  a  lift." 

The  words  were  uttered  with  undisguised  ill-feeling; 
it  was  plain  the  pair  were  not  congenial,  and  further 
conversation,  even  to  one  of  Mr.  Finsbury's  pathetic 
loquacity,  was  out  of  the  question.  With  an  angry 
gesture  he  pulled  down  the  brim  of  the  forage-cap  over 
his  eyes,  and  producing  a  note-book  and  a  blue  pencil 
from  one  of  his  innermost  pockets,  soon  became  ab- 
sorbed in  calculations. 

On  his  part  the  carrier  fell  to  whistling  with  fresh 
zest;  and  if  (now  and  again)  he  glanced  at  the  com- 

40 


THE  LECTURER  AT   LARGE 

panion  of  his  drive,  it  was  with  mingled  feelings  of 
triumph  and  alarm  —  triumph  because  he  had  succeeded 
in  arresting  that  prodigy  of  speech,  and  alarm  lest  (by 
any  accident)  it  should  begin  again.  Even  the  shower, 
which  presently  overtook  and  passed  them,  was  endured 
by  both  in  silence ;  and  it  was  still  in  silence  that  they 
drove  at  length  into  Southampton. 

Dusk  had  fallen ;  the  shop  windows  glimmered  forth 
Into  the  streets  of  the  old  seaport;  in  private  houses 
lights  were  kindled  for  the  evening  meal;  and  Mr.  Fins- 
bury  began  to  think  complacently  of  his  night's  lodging. 
He  put  his  papers  by,  cleared  his  throat,  and  looked 
doubtfully  at  Mr.  Chandler. 

''Will  you  be  civil  enough,"  said  he,  *'to  recommend 
me  to  an  inn  ?  " 

Mr.  Chandler  pondered  for  a  moment. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  **I  wonder  how  about  the 
'Tregonwell  Arms.'" 

"The  'Tregonwell  Arms'  will  do  very  well,"  re- 
turned the  old  man,  "if  it's  clean  and  cheap,  and  the 
people  civil." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  so  much  of  you,"  returned  Mr. 
Chandler,  thoughtfully.  "I  v/as  thinking  of  my  friend 
Watts  as  keeps  the  'ouse;  he's  a  friend  of  mine,  you 
see,  and  he  helped  me  through  my  trouble  last  year. 
And  I  was  thinking,  would  it  be  fair-like  on  Watts  to 
saddle  him  with  an  old  party  like  you,  who  might  be 
the  death  of  him  with  general  information.  Would  it 
be  fair  to  the  'ouse  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Chandler,  with  an  air 
of  candid  appeal. 

"Mark  me,"  cried  the  old  gentleman,  with  spirit. 
**lt  was  kind  in  you  to  bring  me  here  for  nothing,  but 

41 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

it  gives  you  no  right  to  address  me  in  such  terms. 
Here's  a  shilling  for  your  trouble;  and  if  you  do  not 
choose  to  set  me  down  at  the  *  Tregonwell  Arms,'  I  can 
find  it  for  myself." 

Chandler  was  surprised  and  a  little  startled ;  mutter- 
ing something  apologetic,  he  returned  the  shilling,  drove 
in  silence  through  several  intricate  lanes  and  small 
streets,  drew  up  at  length  before  the  bright  windows 
of  an  inn,  and  called  loudly  for  "Mr.  Watts." 

*'Is  that  you,  Jem?"  cried  a  hearty  voice  from  the 
stableyard.     '*Come  in  and  warm  yourself" 

*'I  only  stopped  here,"  Mr.  Chandler  explained,  **to 
let  down  an  old  gent  what  wants  food  and  lodging. 
Mind,  I  warn  you  agin  him;  he's  worse  nor  a  temper- 
ance lecturer." 

Mr.  Finsbury  dismounted  with  difficulty,  for  he  was 
cramped  with  his  long  drive,  and  the  shaking  he  had 
received  in  the  accident.  The  friendly  Mr.  Watts,  in 
spite  of  the  carter's  scarcely  agreeable  introduction, 
treated  the  old  gentleman  with  the  utmost  courtesy,  and 
led  him  into  the  back  parlour,  where  there  was  a  big 
fire  burning  in  the  grate.  Presently  a  table  was  spread 
in  the  same  room,  and  he  was  invited  to  seat  himself 
before  a  stewed  fowl  —  somewhat  the  worse  for  having 
seen  service  before  —  and  a  big  pewter  mug  of  ale  from 
the  tap. 

He  rose  from  supper  a  giant  refreshed;  and  changing 
his  seat  to  one  nearer  the  fire,  began  to  examine  the 
other  guests  with  an  eye  to  the  delights  of  oratory. 
There  were  near  a  dozen  present,  all  men,  and  (as  Jo- 
seph exulted  to  perceive)  all  working-men.  Often 
already  had  he  seen  cause  to  bless  that  appetite  for  dis- 

42 


THE  LECTURER  AT   LARGE 

connected  fact  and  rotatory  argument,  which  is  so  marked 
a  character  of  the  mechanic.  But  even  an  audience  of 
working-men  has  to  be  courted,  and  there  was  no  man 
more  deeply  versed  in  the  necessary  arts  than  Joseph 
Finsbury.  He  placed  his  glasses  on  his  nose,  drew  from 
his  pocket  a  bundle  of  papers,  and  spread  them  before 
him  on  a  table.  He  crumpled  them,  he  smoothed  them 
out;  now  he  skimmed  them  over,  apparently  well 
pleased  with  their  contents ;  now,  with  tapping  pencil 
and  contracted  brows,  he  seemed  maturely  to  consider 
some  particular  statement.  A  stealthy  glance  about  the 
room  assured  him  of  the  success  of  his  manoeuvres ;  all 
eyes  were  turned  on  the  performer,  mouths  were  open, 
pipes  hung  suspended;  the  birds  were  charmed.  At 
the  same  moment  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Watts  afforded 
him  an  opportunity. 

**I  observe,"  said  he,  addressing  the  landlord,  but 
taking  at  the  same  time  the  whole  room  into  his  confi- 
dence with  an  encouraging  look,  "  I  observe  that  some 
of  these  gentlemen  are  looking  with  curiosity  in  my 
direction ;  and  certainly  it  is  unusual  to  see  anyone  im- 
mersed in  literary  and  scientific  labours  in  the  publie 
apartment  of  an  inn.  I  have  here  some  calculations  I 
made  this  morning  upon  the  cost  of  living  in  this  and 
other  countries  —  a  subject,  I  need  scarcely  say,  highly 
interesting  to  the  working  classes.  I  have  calculated  a 
scale  of  living  for  incomes  of  eighty,  one  hundred  and 
sixty,  two  hundred,  and  two  hundred  and  forty  pounds 
a  year.  I  must  confess  that  the  income  of  eighty  pounds 
has  somewhat  baffled  me,  and  the  others  are  not  so 
exact  as  I  could  wish ;  for  the  price  of  washing  varies 
largely  in  foreign  countries,  and  the  different  cokes, 

43 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

coals,  and  firewoods  fluctuate  surprisingly.  I  will  read 
my  researches,  and  I  hope  you  won't  scruple  to  point 
out  to  me  any  little  errors  that  I  may  have  committed 
either  from  oversight  or  ignorance.  I  will  begin,  gen- 
tlemen, with  the  income  of  eighty  pounds  a  year." 

Whereupon  the  old  gentleman,  with  less  compassion 
than  he  would  have  had  for  brute  beasts,  delivered  him- 
self of  all  his  tedious  calculations.  As  he  occasionally 
gave  ten  versions  of  a  single  income,  placing  the  im- 
aginary person  in  London,  Paris,  Bagdad,  Spitzbergen, 
Bassorah,  Heligoland,  the  Scilly  Islands,  Brighton,  Cin- 
cinnati, and  Nijni-Novgorod,  with  an  appropriate  out- 
fit for  each  locality,  it  is  no  wonder  that  his  hearers  look 
back  on  that  evening  as  the  most  tiresome  they  ever 
spent. 

Long  before  Mr.  Finsbury  had  reached  Nijni-Novgo- 
rod with  the  income  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds, 
the  company  had  dwindled  and  faded  away  to  a  few 
old  topers  and  the  bored  but  affable  Watts.  There  was 
a  constant  stream  of  customers  from  the  outer  world, 
but  so  soon  as  they  were  served  they  drank  their  liquor 
quickly,  and  departed  with  the  utmost  celerity  for  the 
next  public-house. 

By  the  time  the  young  man  with  two  hundred  a  year 
was  vegetating  in  the  Scilly  Islands,  Mr.  Watts  was  left 
alone  with  the  economist;  and  that  imaginary  person 
had  scarce  commenced  life  at  Brighton  before  the  last  of 
his  pursuers  desisted  from  the  chase. 

Mr.  Finsbury  slept  soundly  after  the  manifold  fatigues 
of  the  day.  He  rose  late,  and  after  a  good  breakfast, 
ordered  the  bill.  Then  it  was  that  he  made  a  discovery 
which  has  been  made  by  many  others,  both  before  and 

44 


THE  LECTURER  AT  LARGE 

since :  that  it  is  one  thing  to  order  your  bill,  and  another 
to  discharge  it.  The  items  were  moderate  and  (what 
does  not  always  follow)  the  total  small;  but  after  the 
most  sedulous  review  of  all  his  pockets,  one  and  nine- 
pence  halfpenny  appeared  to  be  the  total  of  the  old  gen- 
tleman's available  assets.     He  asked  to  see  Mr.  Watts. 

**  Here  is  a  bill  on  London  for  eight  hundred  pounds," 
said  Mr.  Finsbury,  as  that  worthy  appeared.  "I  am 
afraid  unless  jou  choose  to  discount  it  yourself,  it  may 
detain  me  a  day  or  two  till  I  can  get  it  cashed." 

Mr.  Watts  looked  at  the  bill,  turned  it  over,  and  dogs- 
eared  it  with  his  fingers.  'Mt  will  keep  you  a  day  or 
two  ?  "  he  said,  repeating  the  old  man's  words.  *'  You 
have  no  other  money  with  you  ?  " 

* '  Some  trifling  change, "  responded  Joseph.  ' '  Noth- 
ing to  speak  of" 

"Then  you  can  send  it  me;  I  should  be  pleased  to 
trust  you." 

"To  tell  the  truth,"  answered  the  old  gentleman,  "I 
am  more  than  half  inclined  to  stay;  I  am  in  need  of 
funds." 

"If  a  loan  of  ten  shillings  would  help  you,  it  is  at 
your  service,"  responded  Watts,  with  eagerness. 

"No,  1  think  I  would  ^rather  stay,"  said  the  old  man, 
"and  get  my  bill  discounted." 

"You  shall  not  stay  in  my  house,"  cried  Mr.  Watts. 
"This  is  the  last  time  you  shall  have  a  bed  at  the  *Tre- 
gonwell  Arms.'" 

"I  insist  upon  remaining,"  replied  Mr.  Finsbury,  with 
spirit;  "  I  remain  by  Act  of  Parliament;  turn  me  out  if 
you  dare." 

"  Then  pay  your  bill,"  said  Mr.  Watts. 

45 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

"  Take  that,"  cried  the  old  man,  tossing  him  the  ne- 
gotiable bill. 

"It  is  not  legal  tender,"  replied  Mr.  Watts.  "You 
must  leave  my  house  at  once." 

'*  You  cannot  appreciate  the  contempt  I  feel  for  you, 
Mr.  Watts,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  resigning  himself 
to  circumstances.  "  But  you  shall  feel  it  in  oneway;  I 
refuse  to  pay  my  bill." 

**I  don't  care  for  your  bill,"  responded  Mr.  Watts. 
*' What  I  want  is  your  absence." 

"  That  you  shall  have!  "  said  the  old  gentleman,  and 
taking  up  his  forage-cap  as  he  spoke,  he  crammed  it  on 
his  head.  "  Perhaps  you  are  too  insolent,"  he  added, 
**  to  inform  me  of  the  time  of  the  next  London  train  ?" 

"  It  leaves  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour,"  returned  the 
inn-keeper,  with  alacrity.     "You  can  easily  catch  it." 

Joseph's  position  was  one  of  considerable  weakness. 
On  the  one  hand,  it  would  have  been  well  to  avoid  the 
direct  line  of  railway,  since  it  was  there  he  might  expect 
his  nephews  to  lie  in  wait  for  his  recapture;  on  the 
other,  it  was  highly  desirable,  it  was  even  strictly  need- 
ful, to  get  the  bill  discounted  ere  it  should  be  stopped. 
To  London,  therefore,  he  decided  to  proceed  on  the  first 
train ;  and  there  remained  but  one  point  to  be  considered, 
how  to  pay  his  fare. 

Joseph's  nails  were  never  clean,  he  ate  almost  entirely 
with  his  knife.  1  doubt  if  you  could  say  he  had  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman ;  but  he  had  better  than  that,  a 
touch  of  genuine  dignity.  Was  it  from  his  stay  in  Asia 
Minor?  Was  it  from  a  strain  in  the  Finsbury  blood 
sometimes  alluded  to  by  customers  ?  At  least,  when  he 
presented  himself  before  the  station-master,  his  salaam 

46 


THE   LECTURER  AT   LARGE 

was  truly  oriental,  palm-trees  appeared  to  crowd  about 
the  little  office,  and  the  simoom  or  the  bulbul  —  but  I 
leave  this  image  to  persons  better  acquainted  with  the 
East.  His  appearance,  besides, was  highly  in  his  favour; 
the  uniform  of  Sir  Faraday,  however  inconvenient  and 
conspicuous,  was,  at  least,  a  costume  in  which  no 
swindler  could  have  hoped  to  prosper;  and  the  exhibi- 
tion of  a  valuable  watch  and  a  bill  for  eight  hundred 
pounds  completed  what  deportment  had  begun.  Quarter 
of  an  hour  later,  when  the  train  came  up,  Mr.  Finsbury 
was  introduced  to  the  guard  and  installed  in  a  first-class 
compartment,  the  station-master  smilingly  assuming  all 
responsibility. 

As  the  old  gentleman  sat  waiting  the  moment  of  de- 
parture, he  was  the  witness  of  an  incident  strangely 
connected  with  the  fortunes  of  his  house.  A  packing-, 
case  of  Cyclopean  bulk  was  borne  along  the  platform  by 
some  dozen  of  tottering  porters,  and  ultimately,  to  the- 
delight  of  a  considerable  crowd,  hoisted  on  board  thcj 
van.  It  is  often  the  cheering  task  of  the  historian  to- 
direct  attention  to  the  designs  and  (if  it  may  be  rever- 
ently said)  the  artifices  of  Providence.  In  the  luggage^ 
van,  as  Joseph  was  borne  out  of  the  station  of  South- 
ampton East  upon  his  way  to  London,  the  Qgg  of  this, 
romance  lay  (so  to  speak)  unhatched.  The  huge  pack-, 
ing-case  was  directed  **  to  lie  at  Waterloo  till  called  for," 
and  addressed  to  one  **  William  Dent  Pitman ;  "  and  the 
very  next  article,  a  goodly  barrel  jammed  into  the  corner 
of  the  van,  bore  the  superscription  "  M.  Finsbury,  i6 
John  Street,  Bloomsbury.     Carriage  paid." 

In  this  juxtaposition,  the  train  of  powder  was  prepared ; 
and  there  was  now  wanting  only  an  idle  hand  to  fire  it  off. 

47 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  MAGISTRATE  IN  THE   LUGGAGE   VAN 

The  city  of  Winchester  is  famed  for  a  cathedral,  a 
bishop  —  but  he  was  unfortunately  killed  some  years 
ago  while  riding — a  public  school,  a  considerable  as- 
sortment of  the  military,  and  the  deliberate  passage  of 
the  trains  on  the  London  and  South  Western  line. 
These  and  many  similar  associations  would  have  doubt- 
less crowded  on  the  mind  of  Joseph  Finsbury ;  but  his 
spirit  had  at  that  time  flitted  from  the  railway  compart- 
ment to  a  heaven  of  populous  lecture-halls  and  endless 
oratory.  His  body,  in  the  meanwhile,  lay  doubled  on 
the  cushions,  the  forage-cap  rakishly  tilted  back  after  the 
fashion  of  those  that  lie  in  wait  for  nursery-maids,  the 
poor  old  face  quiescent,  one  arm  clutching  to  his  heart 
Lloyd's  Weekly  Newspaper, 

To  him,  thus  unconscious,  enter  and  exeunt  again  a 
pair  of  voyagers.  These  two  had  saved  the  train  and 
no  more.  A  tandem  urged  to  its  last  speed,  an  act  of 
something  closely  bordering  on  brigandage  at  the  ticket 
office,  and  a  spasm  of  running,  had  brought  them  on 
the  platform  just  as  the  engine  uttered  its  departing 
snort.  There  was  but  one  carriage  easily  within  their 
reach ;  and  they  had  sprung  into  it,  and  the  leader  and 
elder  already  had  his  feet  upon  the  floor,  when  he  ob- 
served Mr.  Finsbury. 

48 


THE  MAGISTRATE  IN  THE  LUGGAGE  VAN 

"Good  God!"  he  cried,  ''Uncle  Joseph!  This'll 
never  do." 

And  he  backed  out,  almost  upsetting  his  companion, 
and  once  more  closed  the  door  upon  the  sleeping  patri- 
arch. 

The  next  moment  the  pair  had  jumped  into  the  bag- 
gage van. 

"  What's  the  row  about  your  Uncle  Joseph  ?  "  inquired 
the  younger  traveller,  mopping  his  brow.  "Does  he 
object  to  smoking  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  that  there's  anything  the  row  with 
him,"  returned  the  other.  "  He's  by  no  means  the  first 
comer,  my  Uncle  Joseph,  I  can  tell  you!  Very  respect- 
able old  gentleman;  interested  in  leather;  been  to  Asia 
Minor;  no  family,  no  assets — and  a  tongue,  my  dear 
Wickham,  sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth." 

"Cantankerous  old  party,  eh  ? "  suggested  Wickham. 

"Not  in  the  least,"  cried  the  other;  "only  a  man 
with  a  solid  talent  for  being  a  bore;  rather  cheery,  I 
dare  say,  on  a  desert  island,  but  on  a  railway  journey, 
insupportable.  You  should  hear  him  on  Tonti,  the  ass 
that  started  tontines.     He's  incredible  on  Tonti." 

"By  Jove!"  cried  Wickham,  "then  you're  one  of 
these  Finsbury  tontine  fellows.  I  hadn't  a  guess  of 
that." 

"Ah!"  said  the  other,  "do  you  know,  that  old  boy 
in  the  carriage  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  to 
me  ?  There  he  was  asleep,  and  nobody  there  but  you ! 
But  I  spared  him,  because  I'm  a  conservative  in  politics." 

Mr.  Wickham,  pleased  to  be  in  a  luggage  van,  was 
flitting  to  and  fro  like  a  gentlemanly  butterfly. 

"By  Jingo!"  he  cried,  "here's  something  for  you! 
49 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

'M.  Finsbury,  i6  John  Street,  Bloomsbury,  London/ 
M.  stands  for  Michael,  you  sly  dog;  you  keep  two  es- 
tablishments, do  you  ?  " 

*'0h,  that's  Morris,"  responded  Michael  from  the 
other  end  of  the  van,  where  he  had  found  a  comfortable 
seat  upon  some  sacks.  **He's  a  little  cousin  of  mine. 
I  like  him  myself,  because  he's  afraid  of  me.  He's  one 
of  the  ornaments  of  Bloomsbury,  and  has  a  collection 
of  some  kind  —  birds'  eggs  or  something  —  that's  sup- 
posed to  be  curious.     I  bet  it's  nothing  to  my  clients !  " 

''What  a  lark  it  would  be  to  play  billy  with  the 
labels ! "  chuckled  Mr.  Wickham.  */  By  George,  here's 
a  tack-hammer  I  We  might  send  all  these  things  skip- 
ping about  the  premises  like  what's-his-name ! " 

At  this  moment  the  guard,  surprised  by  the  sound 
of  voices,  opened  the  door  of  his  little  cabin. 

*'You  had  best  step  in  here,  gentlemen,"  said  he, 
when  he  had  heard  their  story. 

"Won't  you  come,  Wickham  ?"  asked  Michael. 

''Catch  me  —  I  want  to  travel  in  a  van,"  replied  the 
south. 

And  so  the  door  of  communication  was  closed;  and 
for  the  rest  of  the  run  Mr.  Wickham  was  left  alone  over 
his  diversions  on  the  one  side,  and  on  the  other  Michael 
and  the  guard  were  closeted  together  in  familiar  talk. 

"  I  can  get  you  a  compartment  here,  sir,"  observed  the 
official,  as  the  train  began  to  slacken  speed  before  Bishop- 
stoke  station.  "  You  had  best  get  out  at  my  door,  and 
I  can  bring  your  friend." 

Mr.  Wickham,  whom  we  left  (as  the  reader  has 
shrewdly  suspected)  beginning  to  "play  billy"  with 
the  labels  in  the  van,  was  a  young  gentleman  of  much 

50 


THE  MAGISTRATE  IN  THE  LUGGAGE  VAN 

wealth,  a  pleasing  but  sandy  exterior,  and  a  highly  va- 
cant mind.  Not  many  months  before,  he  had  contrived 
to  get  himself  black-mailed  by  the  family  of  a  Walla- 
chian  Hospodar,  resident  for  political  reasons  in  the  gay 
city  of  Paris.  A  common  friend  (to  whom  he  had  con- 
fided his  distress)  recommended  him  to  Michael;  and 
the  lawyer  was  no  sooner  in  possession  of  the  facts, 
than  he  instantly  assumed  the  offensive,  fell  on  the  flank 
of  the  Wallachian  forces,  and  in  the  inside  of  three  days, 
had  the  satisfaction  to  behold  them  routed  and  fleeing 
for  the  Danube.  It  is  no  business  of  ours  to  follow  them 
on  this  retreat,  over  which  the  police  were  so  obliging 
as  to  preside  paternally.  Thus  relieved  from  what  he 
loved  to  refer  to  as  the  Bulgarian  Atrocity,  Mr.  Wick- 
ham  returned  to  London  with  the  most  unbounded  and 
embarrassing  gratitude  and  admiration  for  his  saviour. 
These  sentiments  were  not  repaid  either  in  kind  or  de- 
gree ;  indeed,  Michael  was  a  trifle  ashamed  of  his  new 
client's  friendship ;  it  had  taken  many  invitations  to  get 
him  to  Winchester  and  Wickham  Manor;  but  he  had 
gone  at  last,  and  was  now  returning.  It  has  been  re- 
marked by  some  judicious  thinker  (possibly  J.  F.  Smith) 
that  Providence  despises  to  employ  no  instrument,  how- 
ever humble;  and  it  is  now  plain  to  the  dullest  that 
both  Mr.  Wickham  and  the  Wallachian  Hospodar  were 
liquid  lead  and  wedges  in  the  hand  of  destiny. 

Smitten  with  the  desire  to  shine  in  Michael's  eyes  and 
show  himself  a  person  of  original  humour  and  resources, 
the  young  gentleman  (who  was  a  magistrate,  more  by 
token,  in  his  native  county)  was  no  sooner  alone  in  the 
van,  than  he  fell  upon  the  labels  with  all  the  zeal  of  a 
reformer;  and  when  he  rejoined  the  lawyer  at  Bishop- 

51 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

Stoke,  his  face  was  flushed  with  his  exertions,  and  his 
cigar,  which  he  had  suffered  to  go  out,  was  almost  bit- 
ten in  two. 

*'By  George,  but  this  has  been  a  lark!"  he  cried. 
**rve  sent  the  wrong  thing  to  everybody  in  England. 
These  cousins  of  yours  have  a  packing-case  as  big  as  a 
house.  I've  muddled  the  whole  business  up  to  that  ex- 
tent, Finsbury,  that  if  it  were  to  get  out,  it's  my  belief 
we  should  be  lynched." 

It  was  useless  to  be  serious  with  Mr.  Wickham. 
''Take  care,"  said  Michael.  "I  am  getting  tired  of 
your  perpetual  scrapes;  my  reputation  is  beginning  to 
suffer." 

"Your  reputation  will  be  all  gone  before  you  finish 
with  me,"  replied  his  companion,  with  a  grin.  "Clap 
it  in  the  bill,  my  boy.  '  For  total  loss  of  reputation,  six 
and  eightpence.'  But,"  continued  Mr.  Wickham,  with 
more  seriousness,  "could  I  be  bowled  out  of  the  Com- 
mission for  this  little  jest  ?  I  know  it's  small,  but  I  like 
to  be  a  J.  P.  Speaking  as  a  professional  man,  do  you 
think  there's  any  risk  ?  " 

' '  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  responded  Michael.  ' '  They'll 
chuck  you  out  sooner  or  later.  Somehow  you  don't 
give  the  effect  of  being  a  good  magistrate." 

"I  only  wish  I  was  a  solicitor,"  retorted  his  com- 
panion, "  instead  of  a  poor  devil  of  a  country  gentleman. 
Suppose  we  start  one  of  those  tontine  affairs  ourselves ; 
I  to  pay  five  hundred  a  year,  and  you  to  guarantee  me 
against  every  misfortune  except  illness  or  marriage." 

"It  strikes  me,"  remarked  the  lawyer  with  a  medita- 
tive laugh,  as  he  lighted  a  cigar;  "it  strikes  me  that  you 
must  be  a  cursed  nuisance  in  this  world  of  ours." 

52 


THE  MAGISTRATE  IN  THE  LUGGAGE  VAN 

"Do  you  really  think  so,  Finsbury  ?**  responded  the 
magistrate,  leaning  back  in  his  cushions,  delighted  with 
the  compliment.  **Yes,  I  suppose  I  am  a  nuisance. 
But  mind  you,  I  have  a  stake  in  the  country :  don't  for- 
get that,  dear  boy." 


55 


CHAPTER  V 

MR.  GIDEON  FORSYTH   AND  THE  GIGANTIC  BOX 

It  has  been  mentioned  that  at  Bournemouth  Julia 
sometimes  made  acquaintances;  it  is  true  she  had  but 
a  glimpse  of  them  before  the  doors  of  John  Street  closed 
again  upon  its  captives,  but  the  glimpse  was  sometimes 
exhilarating,  and  the  consequent  regret  was  tempered 
with  hope.  Among  those  whom  she  had  thus  met  a 
year  before,  was  a  young  barrister  of  the  name  of  Gideon 
Forsyth. 

About  three  o'clock  of  the  eventful  day  when  the 
magistrate  tampered  with  the  labels,  a  somewhat  moody 
and  distempered  ramble  had  carried  Mr.  Forsyth  to  the 
corner  of  John  Street;  and  about  the  same  moment  Miss 
Hazeltine  was  called  to  the  door  of  No.  i6  by  a  thunder- 
ing double  knock. 

Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth  was  a  happy  enough  young  man ; 
he  would  have  been  happier  if  he  had  had  more  money 
and  less  uncle.  One  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a  year 
Was  all  his  store;  but  his  uncle,  Mr.  Edward  Hugh 
Bloomfield,  supplemented  this  with  a  handsome  allow- 
ance and  a  great  deal  of  advice,  couched  in  language 
that  would  probably  have  been  judged  intemperate  on 
board  a  pirate  ship.  Mr.  Bloomfield  was  indeed  a  figure 
quite  peculiar  to  the  days  of  Mr.  Gladstone;  what  we 

54 


MR.  GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  GIGANTIC   BOX 

may  call  (for  the  lack  of  an  accepted  expression)  a  Squir- 
radical.  Having  acquired  years  without  experience,  he 
carried  into  the  radical  side  of  politics  those  noisy,  after 
dinner-table  passions,  which  we  are  more  accustomed 
to  connect  with  toryism  in  its  severe  and  senile  aspects. 
To  the  opinions  of  Mr.  Bradlaugh,  in  fact,  he  added  the 
temper  and  the  sympathies  of  that  extinct  animal,  the 
Squire.  He  admired  pugilism,  he  carried  a  formidable 
oaken  staff,  he  was  a  reverent  churchman,  and  it  was 
hard  to  know  which  would  have  more  volcanically 
stirred  his  choler  —  a  person  who  should  have  defended 
the  established  church,  or  one  who  should  have  neglected 
to  attend  its  celebrations.  He  had  besides  some  level- 
ing catch-words,  justly  dreaded  in  the  family  circle ;  and 
when  he  could  not  go  so  far  as  to  declare  a  step  Un- 
English,  he  might  still  (and  with  hardly  less  effect)  de- 
nounce it  as  Unpractical.  It  was  under  the  ban  of  this 
lesser  excommunication  that  Gideon  had  fallen.  His 
views  on  the  study  of  law  had  been  pronounced  un- 
practical; and  it  had  been  intimated  to  him,  in  a  vocifer- 
ous interview  punctuated  with  the  oaken  staff,  that  he 
must  either  take  a  new  start  and  get  a  brief  or  two,  or 
prepare  to  live  on  his  own  money. 

No  wonder  if  Gideon  was  moody.  He  had  not  the 
slightest  wish  to  modify  his  present  habits;  but  he 
would  not  stand  on  that,  since  the  recall  of  Mr.  Bloom- 
field's  allowance  would  revolutionise  them  still  more 
radically.  He  had  not  the  least  desire  to  acquaint  him- 
self with  law;  he  had  looked  into  it  already,  and  it 
seemed  not  to  repay  attention;  but  upon  this  also  he 
was  ready  to  give  way.  In  fact,  he  would  go  as  far  as 
he  could  to  meet  the  views  of  his  uncle,  the  squirradical. 

55 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

But  there  was  one  part  of  the  programme  that  appeared 
independent  of  his  will.  How  to  get  a  brief  ?  there  was 
the  question.  And  there  was  another  and  a  worse. 
Suppose  he  got  one,  should  he  prove  the  better  man  ? 

Suddenly  he  found  his  way  barred  by  a  crowd.  A 
garishly  illuminated  van  was  backed  against  the  kerb; 
from  its  open  stern,  half  resting  on  the  street,  half  sup- 
ported by  some  glistening  athletes,  the  end  of  the  largest 
packing-case  in  the  county  of  Middlesex  might  have 
been  seen  protruding;  while  on  the  steps  of  the  house, 
the  burly  person  of  the  driver  and  the  slim  figure  of  a 
young  girl  stood  as  upon  a  stage,  disputing. 

*'  It  is  not  for  us,"  the  girl  was  saying.  *'l  beg  you 
to  take  it  away ;  it  couldn't  get  into  the  house,  even  if 
you  managed  to  get  it  out  of  the  van. " 

**I  shall  leave  it  on  the  pavement,  then,  and  M.  Fins- 
bury  can  arrange  with  the  Vestry  as  he  likes,"  said  the 
van-man. 

**  But  I  am  not  M.  Finsbury,"  expostulated  the  girl. 

*'  It  doesn't  matter  who  you  are,"  said  the  van-man. 

**  You  must  allow  me  to  help  you.  Miss  Hazeltine," 
said  Gideon,  putting  out  his  hand. 

Julia  gave  a  little  cry  of  pleasure.  ' '  Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth, " 
she  cried,  "I  am  so  glad  to  see  you;  we  must  get  this 
horrid  thing,  which  can  only  have  come  here  by  mistake, 
into  the  house.  The  man  says  we'll  have  to  take  off  the 
door,  or  knock  two  of  our  windows  into  one,  or  be  fined 
by  the  Vestry  or  Custom  House  or  something,  for  leav- 
ing our  parcels  on  the  pavement." 

The  men,  by  this  time,  had  successfully  removed  the 
box  from  the  van,  had  plumped  it  down  on  the  pave- 
ment, and  now  stood  leaning  against  it,  or  gazing  at 

56 


MR.  GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  GIGANTIC  BOX 

the  door  of  No.  i6,  in  visible  physical  distress  and 
mental  embarrassment.  The  windows  of  the  whole 
street  had  filled,  as  if  by  magic,  with  interested  and 
entertained  spectators. 

With  as  thoughtful  and  scientific  an  expression  as  he 
could  assume,  Gideon  measured  the  doorway  with  his 
cane,  while  Julia  entered  his  observations  in  a  drawing- 
book.  He  then  measured  the  box,  and,  upon  compar- 
ing his  data,  found  that  there  was  just  enough  space  for 
it  to  enter.  Next,  throwing  off"  his  coat  and  waistcoat, 
he  assisted  the  men  to  take  the  door  from  its  hinges. 
And  lastly,  all  by-standers  being  pressed  into  the  ser- 
vice, the  packing-case  mounted  the  steps  upon  some 
fifteen  pairs  of  wavering  legs  —  scraped,  loudly  grind- 
ing, through  the  doorway  —  and  was  deposited  at 
length,  with  a  formidable  convulsion,  in  the  far  end  of 
the  lobby,  which  it  almost  blocked.  The  artisans  of 
this  victory  smiled  upon  each  other  as  the  dust  sub- 
sided. It  was  true  they  had  smashed  a  bust  of  Apollo 
and  ploughed  the  wall  into  deep  ruts;  but,  at  least, 
they  were  no  longer  one  of  the  public  spectacles  of 
London. 

''Well,  sir,"  said  the  van-man,  "1  never  see  such  a 
job." 

Gideon  eloquently  expressed  his  concurrence  in  this 
sentiment  by  pressing  a  couple  of  sovereigns  in  the 
man's  hand. 

'*Make  it  three,  sir,  and  I'll  stand  Sam  to  everybody 
here! "  cried  the  latter;  and  this  having  been  done,  the 
whole  body  of  volunteer  porters  swarmed  into  the  van, 
which  drove  off  in  the  direction  of  the  nearest  reliable 
public-house.     Gideon  closed  the  door  on  their  de- 

57 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

parture  and  turned  to  Julia:  their  eyes  met;  the  most 
uncontrollable  mirth  seized  upon  them  both,  and  they 
made  the  house  ring  with  their  laughter.  Then  curios- 
ity awoke  in  Julia's  mind,  and  she  went  and  examined 
the  box,  and  more  especially  the  label. 

**This  is  the  strangest  thing  that  ever  happened,** 
she  said,  with  another  burst  of  laughter.  "It  is  cer- 
tainly Morris's  handwriting,  and  I  had  a  letter  from  him 
only  this  morning  telling  me  to  expect  a  barrel.  Is 
there  a  barrel  coming,  too,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Forsyth  ?  " 

"Statuary  with  Care,  Fragile,"  read  Gideon  aloud 
from  the  painted  warning  on  the  box.  "Then  you 
were  told  nothing  about  this  ?  " 

"No,"  responded  Julia.  "Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth,  don*t 
you  think  we  might  take  a  peep  at  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Gideon.  "Just  let  me  have  a 
hammer." 

"Come  down,  and  I'll  show  you  where  it  is,'*  cried 
Julia,  "the  shelf  is  too  high  for  me  to  reach;"  and, 
opening  the  door  of  the  kitchen  stair,  she  bade  Gideon 
follow  her.  They  found  both  a  hammer  and  a  chisel; 
but  Gideon  was  surprised  to  see  no  sign  of  a  servant. 
He  also  discovered  that  Miss  Hazeltine  had  a  very  pretty 
little  foot  and  ankle;  and  the  discovery  embarrassed 
him  so  much  that  he  was  glad  to  fall  at  once  upon  the 
packing-case. 

He  worked  hard  and  earnestly,  and  dealt  his  blows 
with  the  precision  of  a  blacksmith;  Julia  the  while 
standing  silently  by  his  side  and  regarding  rather  the 
workman  than  the  work.  He  was  a  handsome  fellow, 
she  told  herself;  she  had  never  seen  such  beautiful 
arms.     And  suddenly,  as  though  he  had  overheard 

58 


MR.  GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  GIGANTIC  BOX 

these  thoughts,  Gideon  turned  and  smiled  to  her.  She, 
too,  smiled  and  coloured ;  and  the  double  change  be- 
came her  so  prettily  that  Gideon  forgot  to  turn  away 
his  eyes,  and,  swinging  the  hammer  with  a  will,  dis- 
charged a  smashing  blow  on  his  own  knuckles.  With 
admirable  presence  of  mind  he  crushed  down  an  oath 
and  substituted  the  harmless  comment,  "butter  fin- 
gers! "  But  the  pain  was  sharp,  his  nerve  was  shaken, 
and  after  an  abortive  trial  he  found  he  must  desist  from 
further  operations. 

In  a  moment  Julia  was  off  to  the  pantry,  in  a  moment 
she  was  back  again  with  a  basin  of  water  and  a  sponge, 
and  had  begun  to  bathe  his  wounded  hand. 

'*!  am  dreadfully  sorry,"  said  Gideon,  apologetically. 
**  If  I  had  had  any  manners  I  should  have  opened  the 
box  first,  and  smashed  my  hand  afterward.  ,  It  feels 
much  better,"  he  added.     "\  assure  you  it  does." 

"  And  now  I  think  you  are  well  enough  to  direct  op- 
erations," said  she.  "  Tell  me  what  to  do,  and  I'll  be 
your  workman." 

*' A  very  pretty  workman,"  said  Gideon,  rather  for- 
getting himself  She  turned  and  looked  at  him,  with  a 
suspicion  of  a  frown;  and  the  indiscreet  young  man 
was  glad  to  direct  her  attention  to  the  packing-case. 
The  bulk  of  the  work  had  been  accomplished ;  and  pres- 
ently Julia  had  burst  through  the  last  barrier  and  dis- 
closed a  zone  of  straw.  In  a  moment  they  were  kneel- 
ing side  by  side,  engaged  like  haymakers;  the  next 
they  were  rewarded  with  a  glimpse  of  something  white 
and  polished;  and  the  next  again,  laid  bare  an  unmis- 
takable marble  leg. 

*'  He  is  surely  a  very  athletic  person,"  said  Julia. 
59 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

"I  never  saw  anything  like  it,"  responded  Gideon. 
"His  muscles  stand  out  like  penny  rolls." 

Another  leg  was  soon  disclosed,  and  then  what 
seemed  to  be  a  third.  This  resolved  itself,  however, 
into  a  knotted  club  resting  upon  a  pedestal. 

'*It  is  a  Hercules,"  cried  Gideon;  *'I  might  have 
guessed  that  from  his  calf.  I'm  supposed  to  be  rather 
partial  to  statuary,  but  when  it  comes  to  Hercules,  the 
police  should  interfere.  I  should  say,"  he  added, 
glancing  with  disaffection  at  the  swollen  leg,  ''that 
this  was  about  the  biggest  and  the  worst  in  Europe. 
What  in  heaven's  name  can  have  induced  him  to  come 
here?" 

*'I  suppose  nobody  else  would  have  a  gift  of  him," 
said  Julia.  *'And  for  that  matter,  I  think  we  could 
have  don-e  without  the  monster  very  well." 

*'0h,  don't  say  that,"  returned  Gideon.  *'This  has 
been  one  of  the  most  amusing  experiences  of  my  life." 

'*  I  don't  think  you'll  forget  it  very  soon,"  said  Julia. 
**  Your  hand  will  remind  you." 

**Well,  I  suppose  I  must  be  going,"  said  Gideon, 
reluctantly. 

*  *  No, "  pleaded  Julia.  *  *  Why  should  you  ?  Stay  and 
have  tea  with  me." 

'*If  I  thought  you  really  wished  me  to  stay,"  said 
Gideon,  looking  at  his  hat,  **  of  course  I  should  only  be 
too  delighted." 

''What  a  silly  person  you  must  take  me  for!"  re- 
turned the  girl.  "Why,  of  course  I  do;  and  besides  I 
want  some  cakes  for  tea,  and  I've  nobody  to  send. 
Here  is  the  latch-key." 

Gideon  put  on  his  hat  with  alacrity,  and  casting  one 

60 


MR.  GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE   GIGANTIC  BOX 

look  at  Miss  Hazeltine  and  another  at  the  legs  of  Her- 
cules, threw  open  the  door  and  departed  on  his  errand. 

He  returned  with  a  large  bag  of  the  choicest  and  most 
tempting  of  cakes  and  tartlets,  and  found  Julia  in  the  act 
of  spreading  a  small  tea-table  in  the  lobby. 

*'The  rooms  are  all  in  such  a  state,"  she  cried, 
**that  I  thought  we  should  be  more  cosy  and  com- 
fortable in  our  own  lobby,  and  under  our  own  vine  and 
statuary.'* 

**Ever  so  much  better,"  cried  Gideon,  delightedly. 

'*0h,  what  adorable  cream  tarts!"  said  Julia,  open- 
ing the  bag,  "and  the  dearest  little  cherry  tartlets,  with 
all  the  cherries  spilled  out  into  the  cream !  " 

*'  Yes,"  said  Gideon,  concealing  his  dismay,  **  I  knew 
they  would  mix  beautifully;  the  woman  behind  the 
counter  told  me  so." 

'*Now,"  said  Julia,  as  they  began  their  little  festival, 
*'  I  am  going  to  show  you  Morris's  letter;  read  it  aloud, 
please;  perhaps  there's  something  1  have  missed." 

Gideon  took  the  letter,  and  spreading  it  out  on  his 
knee,  read  as  follows: 

"  Dear  Julia:  I  write  you  from  Browndean,  where  we  are  stopping 
over  for  a  few  days.  Uncle  was  much  shaken  in  that  dreadful  acci- 
dent, of  which,  I  dare  say,  you  have  seen  the  account.  To-morrow  I 
leave  him  here  with  John,  and  come  up  alone;  but  before  that  you  will 
have  received  a  barrel  containing  specimens  for  a  friend.  Do  not 
open  it  on  any  account,  but  leave  it  in  the  lobby  till  I  come. 

"  Yours  in  haste, 

"M.    FiNSBURY. 

"  P.S. — Be  sure  and  leave  the  barrel  in  the  lobby." 

**No,"  said  Gideon,   "there  seems  to  be  nothing 
6i 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

about  the  monument,"  and  he  nodded  as  he  spoke  at 
the  marble  legs.  '*Miss  Hazeltine,"  he  continued, 
*'  would  you  mind  me  asking  a  few  questions  ?" 

*' Certainly  not,"  replied  Julia;  **and  if  you  can  make 
me  understand  why  Morris  has  sent  a  statue  of  Hercules 
instead  of  a  barrel  containing  specimens  for  a  friend,  I 
shall  be  grateful  till  my  dying  day.  And  what  are  speci- 
mens for  a  friend  ?  " 

''I  haven't  a  guess,"  said  Gideon.  "Specimens  are 
usually  bits  of  stone,  but  rather  smaller  than  our  friend 
the  monument.  Still,  that  is  not  the  point.  Are  you 
quite  alone  in  this  big  house  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  at  present,"  returned  Julia.  *'  I  came  up 
before  them  to  prepare  the  house,  and  get  another 
servant.     But  I  couldn't  get  one  I  liked." 

*'Then  you  are  utterly  alone,"  said  Gideon  in  amaze- 
ment.    '*  Are  you  not  afraid  ?  " 

*'No,"  responded  Julia,  stoutly.  **I  don't  see  why  I 
should  be  more  afraid  than  you  would  be ;  I  am  weaker, 
of  course,  but  when  I  found  I  must  sleep  alone  in  the 
house,  I  bought  a  revolver  wonderfully  cheap,  and  made 
the  man  show  me  how  to  use  it." 

'*  And  how  do  you  use  it?"  demanded  Gideon,  much 
amused  at  her  courage. 

**  Why,"  said  she,  with  a  smile,  **you  pull  the  little 
trigger  thing  on  top,  and  then  pointing  it  very  low,  for 
it  springs  up  as  you  fire,  you  pull  the  underneath  little 
trigger  thing,  and  it  goes  off  as  well  as  if  a  man  had 
done  it." 

'*  And  how  often  have  you  used  it?"  asked  Gideon. 

*'0h,  I  have  not  used  it  yet,"  said  the  determined 
young  lady;  ''but  I  know  how,  and  that  makes  me 

62 


MR.  GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  GIGANTIC  BOX 

wonderfully  courageous,  especially  when  I  barricade  my 
door  with  a  chest  of  drawers." 

"Vm  awfully  glad  they  are  coming  back  soon,"  said 
Gideon.  "This  business  strikes  me  as  excessively  un- 
safe; if  it  goes  on  much  longer,  I  could  provide  you 
with  a  maiden  aunt  of  mine,  or  my  landlady,  if  you 
preferred." 

"  Lend  me  an  aunt! "  cried  Julia.  *'  Oh,  what  gener- 
osity !  I  begin  to  think  it  must  have  been  you  that  sent 
the  Hercules." 

''Believe  me,"  cried  the  young  man,  **I  admire 
you  too  much  to  send  you  such  an  infamous  work 
of  art." 

Julia  was  beginning  to  reply,  when  they  were  both 
startled  by  a  knocking  at  the  door. 

*'0h,  Mr.  Forsyth!" 

*' Don't  be  afraid,  my  dear  girl,"  said  Gideon,  laying 
his  hand  tenderly  on  her  arm. 

"I  know  it's  the  police,"  she  whispered.  **They  are 
coming  to  complain  about  the  statue." 

The  knock  was  repeated.  It  was  louder  than  before, 
and  more  impatient. 

**It*s  Morris,"  cried  Julia,  in  a  startled  voice,  and  she 
ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

It  was  indeed  Morris  that  stood  before  them ;  not  the 
Morris  of  ordinary  days,  but  a  wild-looking  fellow,  pale 
and  haggard,  with  blood-shot  eyes,  and  a  two  days' 
beard  upon  his  chin. 

**The  barrel!"  he  cried.  ''Where's  the  barrel  that 
came  this  morning  ? "  and  he  stared  about  the  lobby, 
his  eyes,  as  they  fell  upon  the  legs  of  Hercules,  literally 
goggling  in  his  head.     ''What  is  that?"  he  screamed. 

63 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

"What  is  that  wax-work?    Speak,  you  fool!    What 
is  that?  and  where's  the  barrel  —  the  water-butt?" 

'*No  barrel  came,  Morris,"  responded  Julia,  coldly. 
**This  is  the  only  thing  that  has  arrived." 

**This!"  shrieked  the  miserable  man.  **I  never 
heard  of  it! " 

*'  It  came  addressed  in  your  hand,"  replied  Julia;  '*we 
had  nearly  to  pull  the  house  down  to  get  it  in,  and  that 
is  all  that  1  can  tell  you." 

Morris  gazed  at  her  in  utter  bewilderment.  He  passed 
his  hand  over  his  forehead,  he  leaned'  against  the  wall 
like  a  man  about  to  faint.  Then  his  tongue  was  loosed, 
and  he  overwhelmed  the  girl  with  torrents  of  abuse. 
Such  fire,  such  directness,  such  a  choice  of  ungentle- 
manly  language,  none  had  ever  before  suspected  Morris  to 
possess ;  and  the  girl  trembled  and  shrank  before  his  fury. 

*'  You  shall  not  speak  to  Miss  Hazeltine  in  that  way," 
said  Gideon,  sternly.     'Mt  is  what  1  will  not  suffer." 

*M  shall  speak  to  the  girl  as  I  like,"  returned  Morris, 
with  a  fresh  outburst  of  anger.  *'  Til  speak  to  the  hussy 
as  she  deserves." 

*'  Not  a  word  more,  sir,  not  one  word,"  cried  Gideon. 
*'Miss  Hazeltine,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  young 
girl,  **you  cannot  stay  a  moment  longer  in  the  same 
house  with  this  unmanly  fellow.  Here  is  my  arm,  let 
me  take  you  where  you  will  be  secure  from  insult" 

**Mr.  Forsyth,"  returned  Julia,  *'you  are  right,  I  can- 
not stay  here  longer,  and  I  am  sure  I  trust  myself  to  an 
honourable  gentleman." 

Pale  and  resolute,  Gideon  offered  her  his  arm,  and  the 
pair  descended  the  steps,  followed  by  Morris  clamouring 
for  the  latch-key. 

64 


MR.  GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  GIGANTIC   BOX 

Julia  had  scarcely  handed  the  key  to  Morris  before  an 
empty  hansom  drove  smartly  into  John  Street.  It  was 
hailed  by  both  men,  and  as  the  cabman  drew  up  his  res- 
tive horse,  Morris  made  a  dash  into  the  vehicle. 

* '  Sixpence  above  fare, "  he  cried,  recklessly.  *  *  Water- 
loo station  for  your  life.     Sixpence  for  yourself ! " 

*'Make  it  a  shilling,  Guv'ner,"  said  the  man,  with  a 
grin,  ''the  other  parties  were  first." 

'*  A  shilling  then,"  cried  Morris,  with  the  inward  re- 
flection that  he  would  reconsider  it  at  Waterloo.  The 
man  whipped  up  his  horse,  and  the  hansom  vanished 
from  John  Street. 


65 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:   PART  THE  FIRST 

As  the  hansom  span  through  the  streets  of  London, 
Morris  sought  to  rally  the  forces  of  his  mind.  The  water- 
butt  with  the  dead  body  had  miscarried,  and  it  was 
essential  to  recover  it.  So  much  was  clear ;  and  if,  by 
some  blest  good-fortune,  it  was  still  at  the  station,  all 
might  be  well.  If  it  had  been  sent  out,  however,  if  it 
were  already  in  the  hands  of  some  wrong  person,  mat- 
ters looked  more  ominous.  People  who  receive  unex- 
plained packages  are  usually  keen  to  have  them  open ; 
the  example  of  Miss  Hazeltine  (whom  he  cursed  again) 
was  there  to  remind  him  of  the  circumstance;  and  if 
anyone  had  opened  the  water-butt — "  Oh,  Lord,"  cried 
Morris  at  the  thought,  and  carried  his  hand  to  his  damp 
forehead.  The  private  conception  of  any  breach  of  law 
is  apt  to  be  inspiriting,  for  the  scheme  (while  yet  in- 
choate) wears  dashing  and  attractive  colours.  Not  so 
in  the  least,  that  part  of  the  criminal's  later  reflections 
which  deal  with  the  police.  That  useful  corps  (as  Morris 
now  began  to  think)  had  scarce  been  kept  sufficiently 
in  view  when  he  embarked  upon  his  enterprise.  "  I 
must  play  devilish  close,"  he  reflected,  and  he  was  aware 
of  an  exquisite  thrill  of  fear  in  the  region  of  the  spine. 

*'  Main  line,  or  loop  ?"  inquired  the  cabman,  through 
the  scuttle. 

66 


THE  TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS  :    PART  THE  FIRST 

**Main  line,"  replied  Morris,  and  mentally  decided 
that  the  man  should  have  his  shilling  after  all.  "  It  would 
be  madness  to  attract  attention,"  thought  he.  ''But 
what  this  thing  will  cost  me,  first  and  last,  begins  to  be 
a  nightmare! " 

He  passed  through  the  booking  oifice  and  wandered 
disconsolately  on  the  platform.  It  was  a  breathing  space 
in  the  day's  traffic;  there  were  few  people  there,  and 
these  for  the  most  part  quiescent  on  the  benches. 
Morris  seemed  to  attract  no  remark,  which  was  a  good 
thing;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  making  no 
progress  in  his  quest.  Something  must  be  done,  some- 
thing must  be  risked ;  every  passing  instant  only  added 
to  his  dangers.  Summoning  all  his  courage,  he  stopped 
a  porter,  and  asked  him  if  he  remembered  receiving  a 
barrel  by  the  morning  train ;  he  was  anxious  to  get  infor- 
mation, for  the  barrel  belonged  to  a  friend.  "It  is  a 
matter  of  some  moment,"  he  added,  "for  it  contains 
specimens." 

"I  was  not  here  this  morning,  sir,"  responded  the 
porter,  somewhat  reluctantly,  "but  I'll  ask  Bill.  Do 
you  recollect.  Bill,  to  have  got  a  barrel  from  Bourne- 
mouth this  morning  containing  specimens  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  about  specimens,"  replied  Bill;  "but 
the  party  as  received  the  barrel  I  mean,  raised  a  sight  of 
trouble." 

"  What's  that  .^"  cried  Morris,  in  the  agitation  of  the 
moment,  pressing  a  penny  into  the  man's  hand. 

"You  see,  sir,  the  barrel  arrived  at  one  thirty;  no  one 
claimed  it  till  about  three,  when  a  small,  sickly-looking 
gentleman  (probably  a  curate)  came  up,  and  sez  he, 
'Have  you  got  anything  for  Pitman,'  or  'Will'm  Bent 

67 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

Pitman/  if  I  recollect  right.  *  I  don't  exactly  know,'  sez 
I/but  I  rather  fancy  that  there  barrel  bears  that  name/ 
The  little  man  went  up  to  the  barrel,  and  seemed  regu- 
larly all  took  aback  when  he  saw  the  address,  and  then 
he  pitched  into  us  for  not  having  brought  what  he 
wanted.  'I  don't  care  a  damn  what  you  want,'  sez  I 
to  him,  *but  if  you  are  Will'm  Bent  Pitman,  there's 
your  barrel.' " 

"Well,  and  did  he  take  it?"  cried  the  breathless 
Morris. 

''Well,  sir,"  returned  Bill,  '*it  appears  it  was  a  pack- 
ing-case he  was  after.  The  packing-case  came ;  that's 
sure  enough,  because  it  was  about  the  biggest  packing- 
case  ever  I  clapped  eyes  on.  And  this  Pitman  he  seemed 
a  good  deal  cut  up,  and  he  had  the  superintendent  out, 
and  they  got  hold  of  the  van-man  —  him  as  took  the 
packing-case.  Well,  sir,"  continued  Bill,  with  a  smile, 
*'l  never  see  a  man  in  such  a  state;  everybody  about 
that  van  was  mortal,  bar  the  horses.  Some  gen'leman 
(as  well  as  I  could  make  out)  had  given  the  van-man  a 
sov ;  and  so  that  was  where  the  trouble  come  in,  you 
see. 

**  But  what  did  he  say  ?"  gasped  Morris. 

**I  don't  know  as  he  said  much,  sir,"  said  Bill. 
"  But  he  offered  to  fight  this  Pitman  for  a  pot  of  beer. 
He  had  lost  his  book,  too,  and  the  receipts ;  and  his  men 
were  all  as  mortal  as  himself  Oh,  they  were  all  like — " 
and  Bill  paused  for  a  simile — /'like  lords  I  the  superin- 
tendent sacked  them  on  the  spot." 

"Oh,  come,  but  that's  not  so  bad,"  said  Morris,  with 
a  bursting  sigh.  "  He  couldn't  tell  where  he  took  the 
packing-case,  then  ?  " 

68 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  FIRST 

"Not  he,"  said  Bill,  *'  nor  yet  nothink  else." 

**  And  what  —  what  did  Pitman  do  ?"  asked  Morris. 

**0h,  he  went  off  with  the  barrel  in  a  four-wheeler, 
very  trembling  like,"  replied  Bill.  *'  I  don't  believe  he's 
a  gentleman  as  has  good  health." 

"Well,  so  the  barrel's  gone,"  said  Morris,  half  to 
himself. 

"  You  may  depend  on  that,  sir,"  returned  the  porter. 
"  But  you  had  better  see  the  superintendent." 

"Not  in  the  least,  it's  of  no  account,"  said  Morris. 
* '  It  only  contained  specimens. "  And  he  walked  hastily 
away. 

Ensconced  once  more  in  a  hansom,  he  proceeded  to 
reconsider  his  position.  Suppose  (he  thought),  suppose 
he  should  accept  defeat  and  declare  his  uncle's  death  at 
once  ?  He  should  lose  the  tontine,  and  with  that  the 
last  hope  of  his  seven  thousand  eight  hundred  pounds. 
But  on  the  other  hand,  since  the  shilling  to  the  hansom 
cabman,  he  had  begun  to  see  that  crime  was  expensive 
in  its  course,  and  since  the  loss  of  the  water-butt,  that  it 
was  uncertain  in  its  consequences.  Quietly  at  first,  and 
then  with  growing  heat,  he  reviewed  the  advantages  of 
backing  out.  It  involved  a  loss ;  but  (come  to  think  of 
it)  no  such  great  loss  after  all ;  only  that  of  the  tontine, 
which  had  been  always  a  toss  up,  which  at  bottom  he 
had  never  really  expected.  He  reminded  himself  of  that 
eagerly;  he  congratulated  himself  upon  his  constant 
moderation.  He  had  never  really  expected  the  tontine; 
he  had  never  even  very  definitely  hoped  to  recover  his 
seven  thousand  eight  hundred  pounds;  he  had  been 
hurried  into  the  whole  thing  by  Michael's  obvious  dis- 
honesty.    Yes,  it  would  probably  be  better  to  draw 

69 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

back  from  this  high-flying  venture,  settle  back  on  the 
leather  business 

"  Great  God!  "  cried  Morris,  bounding  in  the  hansom 
like  a  Jack-in-a-box.  'M  have  not  only  not  gained  the 
tontine  —  1  have  lost  the  leather  business!  " 

Such  was  the  monstrous  fact.  He  had  no  power  to 
sign ;  he  could  not  draw  a  check  for  thirty  shillings ;  until 
he  could  produce  legal  evidence  of  his  uncle's  death,  he 
was  a  penniless  outcast  —  and  as  soon  as  he  produced  it 
he  had  lost  the  tontine !  There  was  no  hesitation  on  the 
part  of  Morris ;  to  drop  the  tontine  like  a  hot  chestnut, 
to  concentrate  all  his  forces  on  the  leather  business  and 
the  rest  of  his  small  but  legitimate  inheritance,  was  the 
decision  of  a  single  instant.  And  the  next,  the  full  ex- 
tent of  his  calamity  was  suddenly  disclosed  to  him. 
Declare  his  uncle's  death  ?  He  couldn't !  Since  the  body 
was  lost,  Joseph  had  (in  a  legal  sense)  become  immortal. 

There  was  no  created  vehicle  big  enough  to  contain 
Morris  and  his  woes.  He  paid  the  hansom  off  and 
walked  on  he  knew  not  whither. 

"  1  seem  to  have  gone  into  this  business  with  too  much 
precipitation,"  he  reflected,  with  a  deadly  sigh.  ''I 
fear  it  seems  too  ramified  for  a  person  of  my  powers  of 
mind." 

And  then  a  remark  of  his  uncle's  flashed  into  his  mem- 
ory :  If  you  want  to  think  clearly,  put  it  all  down  on 
paper.  *'  Well,  the  old  boy  knew  a  thing  or  two, "  said 
Morris.  "  1  will  try;  but  I  don't  believe  the  paper  was 
ever  made  that  will  clear  my  mind." 

He  entered  a  place  of  public  entertainment,  ordered 
bread  and  cheese,  and  writing  materials,  and  sat  down 
before  them  heavily.     He  tried  the  pen ;  it  was  an  ex- 

70 


THE  TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  FIRST 

cellent  pen,  but  what  was  he  to  write  ?  "\  have  it," 
cried  Morris.  *' Robinson  Crusoe  and  the  double  col- 
umns ! "  He  prepared  his  paper  after  that  classic  model 
and  began  as  follows : 

Bad.  Good. 

I.  I  have  lost  my  uncle's  body.         i.  But  then  Pitman  has  found  it. 

**Stop  a  bit,"  said  Morris,  **I  am  letting  the  spirit  of 
antithesis  run  away  with  me.     Let's  start  again." 

Bad.  Good. 

1 .  I  have  lost  my  uncle's  body.         i .  But  then  I  no  longer  require 

to  bury  it. 

2.  I  have  lost  the  tontine.  2.  But  t  may  still  save  that  if 

Pitman  disposes  of  the  body, 
and  if  I  can  find  a  physician 
who  will  stick  at  nothing, 

3.  I  have  lost  the  leather  busi-      3.  But  not  if  Pitman  gives  the 
ness  and  the  rest  of  my  un-  body  up  to  the  police. 

cle's  succession, 

'*0h,  but  in  that  case  I  goto  jail;  I  had  forgot  that," 
thought  Morris.  "  Indeed,  I  don't  know  that  I  had  bet- 
ter dwell  on  that  hypothesis  at  all ;  it's  all  very  well  to 
talk  of  facing  the  worst ;  but  in  a  case  of  this  kind,  a 
man's  first  duty  is  to  his  own  nerve.  Is  there  any  an- 
swer to  No.  3  ?  Is  there  any  possible  good  side  to  such 
a  beastly  bungle  ?  There  must  be,  of  course,  or  where 
would  be  the  use  of  this  double-entry  business  ?  And 
—  by  George,  I  have  it!"  he  exclaimed;  ''it's  exactly 
the  same  as  the  last!  "  And  he  hastily  rewrote  the  pas- 
sage. 

Bad.  Good. 

3.  I  have  lost  the  leather  busi-  3.  But  not  if  I  can  find  a  physician 
ness  and  the  rest  of  my  un-  who  will  stick  at  nothing, 

cle's  succession. 

71 


THE  WRONG  BOX 


''This  venal  doctor  seems  quite  a  desideratum,"  he 
reflected.  "I  want  him  first  to  give  me  a  certificate 
that  my  uncle  is  dead,  so  that  I  may  get  the  leather 
business;  and  then  that  he's  alive  —  but  here  we  are 
again  at  the  incompatible  interests! "  And  he  returned 
to  his  tabulation. 


Bad. 

4.  I  have  almost  no  money. 

5.  Yes,  but  I  can't  get  the  money 
in  the  bank. 

6.  I  have  left  the  bill  for  eight  hun- 
dred pounds  in  Uncle  Joseph's 
pocket. 


Good. 

4.  But  there  is  plenty  in  the  bank. 

5.  But — well,  that  seems  unhap- 
pily to  be  the  case. 

6.  But  if  Pitman  is  only  a  dishon- 
est man,  the  presence  of  this 
bill  may  lead  him  to  keep  the 
whole  thing  dark  and  throw 
the  body  into  the  New  Cut. 

7.  Yes,  but  if  I  am  right  about 
Uncle  Masterman,  I  can  black- 
mail Michael. 

8.  Worse  luck! 


9.  But  the  leather  business  is 
sinking  ship. 


7.  Yes,  but  if  Pitman  is  dishonest 
and  finds  the  bill,  he  will  know 
who  Joseph  is,  and  he  may 
blackmail  me. 

8.  But  I  can't  blackmail  Michael 
(which  is,  besides,  a  very  dan- 
gerous thing  to  do)  until  I  find 
out. 

9.  The  leather  business  will  soon 
want  money  for  current  ex- 
penses, and  I  have  none  to 
give. 

10.  Yes,  but  it's  all  the  ship  I  have. 

1 1 .  John  will  soon  want  money, 
and  I  have  none  to  give. 

12.  And    the   venal    doctor  will 
want  money  down. 

13.  And  if  Pitman  is  dishonest      13. 
and  don't  send  me  to  jail,  he 

will  want  a  fortune. 

'*0h,  this  seems  to  be  a  very  one-sided  business,*' 

72 


10.  A  fact. 
II. 

12. 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  FIRST 

exclaimed  Morris.  * '  There's  not  so  much  in  this  method 
as  I  was  led  to  think."  He  crumpled  the  paper  up  and 
threw  it  down ;  and  then,  the  next  moment,  picked  it 
up  again  and  ran  it  over.  "  It  seems  it's  on  the  finan- 
cial point  that  my  position  is  weakest,"  he  reflected. 
*'Is  there  positively  no  way  of  raising  the  wind.^  In  a 
vast  city  like  this,  and  surrounded  by  all  the  resources 
of  civilisation,  it  seems  not  to  be  conceived !  Let  us 
have  no  more  precipitation.  Is  there  nothing  I  can  sell.? 
My  collection  of  signet  — . "  But  at  the  thought  of  scat- 
tering these  beloved  treasures,  the  blood  leaped  into 
Morris's  cheek.  ''I  would  rather  die!"  he  exclaimed, 
and  cramming  his  hat  upon  his  head,  strode  forth  into 
the  streets. 

"  I  must  raise  funds,"  he  thought.  "  My  uncle  being 
dead,  the  money  in  the  bank  is  mine;  or  would  be  mine, 
but  for  the  cursed  injustice  that  has  pursued  me  ever 
since  I  was  an  orphan  in  a  Commercial  Academy.  I 
know  what  any  other  man  would  do;  any  other  man  in 
Christendom  would  forge ;  although  I  don't  know  why 
I  call  it  forging,  either,  when  Joseph's  dead,  and  the 
funds  are  my  own.  When  I  think  of  that,  when  I  think 
that  my  uncle  is  really  as  dead  as  mutton,  and  that  I 
can't  prove  it,  my  gorge  rises  at  the  injustice  of  the 
whole  affair.  I  used  to  feel  bitterly  about  that  seven 
thousand  eight  hundred  pounds ;  it  seems  a  trifle  now ! 
Dear  me,  why,  the  day  before  yesterday  I  was  compar- 
atively happy." 

And  Morris  stood  on  the  sidewalk  and  heaved  another 
sobbing  sigh. 

**Then  there's  another  thing,"  he  resumed;  **can  I  ? 
Am  I  able  ?    Why  didn't  I  practise  different  handwrit- 

73 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

ings  while  I  was  young  ?  How  a  fellow  regrets  those 
lost  opportunities  when  he  grows  up !  But  there's  one 
comfort:  it's  not  morally  wrong;  1  can  try  it  on  with  a 
clear  conscience,  and  even  if  1  was  found  out,  1  wouldn't 
greatly  care  —  morally,  I  mean.  And  then,  if  I  succeed, 
and  if  Pitman  is  staunch  —  there's  nothing  to  do  but 
find  a  venal  doctor;  and  that  ought  to  be  simple  enough 
in  a  place  like  London.  By  all  accounts  the  town's 
alive  with  them.  It  wouldn't  do,  of  course,  to  adver- 
tise for  a  corrupt  physician;  that  would  be  impolitic. 
No,  I  suppose  a  fellow  has  simply  to  spot  along  the 
streets  for  a  red  lamp  and  herbs  in  the  window,  and 
then  you  go  in  and  —  and  —  and  put  it  to  him  plainly; 
though  it  seems  a  delicate  step." 

He  was  near  home  now,  after  many  devious  wander- 
ings, and  turned  up  John  Street.  As  he  thrust  his  latch- 
key in  the  lock,  another  mortifying  reflection  struck  him 
to  the  heart. 

''Not  even  this  house  is  mine  till  1  can  prove  him 
dead,"  he  snarled,  and  slammed  the  door  behind  him 
so  that  the  windows  in  the  attic  rattled. 

Night  had  long  fallen ;  long  ago  the  lamps  and  the 
shop-fronts  had  begun  to  glitter  down  the  endless  streets ; 
the  lobby  was  pitch-dark;  and,  as  the  devil  would  have 
it,  Morris  barked  his  shins  and  sprawled  all  his  length 
over  the  pedestal  of  Hercules.  The  pain  was  sharp; 
his  temper  was  already  thoroughly  undermined;  by  a 
last  misfortune  his  hand  closed  on  the  hammer  as  he 
fell;  and,  in  a  spasm  of  childish  irritation,  he  turned 
and  struck  at  the  offending  statue.  There  was  a  splin- 
tering crash. 

*'OLord,  what  have  I  done  next?"  wailed  Morris; 
74 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART   THE   FIRST 

and  he  groped  his  way  to  find  a  candle.  "Yes,"  he 
reflected,  as  he  stood  with  the  light  in  his  hand  and 
looked  upon  the  mutilated  leg,  from  which  about  a 
pound  of  muscle  was  detached.  "Yes,  I  have  de- 
stroyed a  genuine  antique;  I  may  be  in  for  thousands! " 
And  then  there  sprung  up  in  his  bosom  a  sort  of  angry 
hope.  "  Let  me  see,"  he  thought.  "Julia's  got  rid  of; 
there's  nothing  to  connect  me  with  that  beast,  Forsyth ; 
the  men  were  all  drunk,  and  (what's  better)  they've 
been  all  discharged.  Oh,  come,  I  think  this  is  another 
case  for  moral  courage!  I'll  deny  all  knowledge  of  the 
thing." 

A  moment  more,  and  he  stood  again  before  the  Her- 
cules, his  lips  sternly  compressed,  the  coal-axe  and  the 
meat-cleaver  under  his  arm.  The  next,  he  had  fallen 
upon  the  packing-case.  This  had  been  already  seriously 
undermined  by  the  operations  of  Gideon ;  a  few  well- 
directed  blows,  and  it  already  quaked  and  gaped;  yet  a 
few  more,  and  it  fell  about  Morris  in  a  shower  of  boards 
followed  by  an  avalanche  of  straw. 

And  now  the  leather  merchant  could  behold  the  na- 
ture of  his  task ;  and  at  the  first  sight  his  spirit  quailed. 
It  was  indeed,  no  more  ambitious  a  task  for  De  Lesseps, 
with  all  his  men  and  horses,  to  attack  the  hills  of  Pa- 
nama, than  for  a  single,  slim  young  gentleman,  with  no 
previous  experience  of  labour  in  a  quarry,  to  measure 
himself  against  that  bloated  monster  on  his  pedestal. 
And  yet  the  pair  were  well  encountered:  on  the  one 
side,  bulk  —  on  the  other,  genuine  heroic  fire. 

"Down  you  shall  come,  you  great  big  ugly  brute!" 
cried  Morris  aloud,  with  something  of  that  passion 
which  swept  the  Parisian  mob  against  the  walls  of  the 

75 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

Bastille.    "Down  you  shall  come,  this  night     I'll  have 
none  of  you  in  my  lobby." 

The  face,  from  its  indecent  expression,  had  particu- 
larly animated  the  zeal  of  our  iconoclast;  and  it  was 
against  the  face  that  he  began  his  operations.  The  great 
height  of  the  demigod  —  for  he  stood  a  fathom  and 
half  in  his  stocking  feet  —  offered  a  preliminary  obstacle 
to  this  attack.  But  here,  in  the  first  skirmish  of  the 
battle,  intellect  already  began  to  triumph  over  matter. 
By  means  of  a  pair  of  library  steps,  the  injured  house- 
holder gained  a  posture  of  advantage;  and  with  great 
swipes  of  the  coal-axe,  proceeded  to  decapitate  the 
brute. 

Two  hours  later,  what  had  been  the  erect  image  of 
a  gigantic  coal-porter  turned  miraculously  white,  was 
now  no  more  than  a  medley  of  disjected  members :  the 
quadragenarian  torso  prone  against  the  pedestal;  the 
lascivious  countenance  leering  down  the  kitchen  stair; 
the  legs,  the  arms,  the  hands,  and  even  the  fingers, 
scattered  broadcast  on  the  lobby  floor.  Half  an  hour 
more,  and  all  the  debris  had  been  laboriously  carted  to 
the  kitchen;  and  Morris,  with  a  gentle  sentiment  of 
triumph,  looked  round  upon  the  scene  of  his  achieve- 
ments. Yes,  he  could  deny  all  knowledge  of  it  now : 
the  lobby,  beyond  the  fact  that  it  was  partly  ruinous, 
betrayed  no  trace  of  the  passage  of  Hercules.  But  it 
was  a  weary  Morris  that  crept  up  to  bed;  his  arms  and 
shoulders  ached,  the  palms  of  his  hands  burned  from 
the  rough  kisses  of  the  coal-axe,  and  there  was  one 
smarting  finger  that  stole  continually  to  his  mouth. 
Sleep  long  delayed  to  visit  the  dilapidated  hero,  and 
with  the  first  peep  of  day  it  had  again  deserted  him. 

76 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  FIRST 

The  morning,  as  though  to  accord  with  his  disas- 
trous fortunes,  dawned  inclemently.  An  easterly  gale 
was  shouting  in  the  streets;  flaws  of  rain  angrily  as- 
sailed the  windows ;  and  as  Morris  dressed,  the  draught 
from  the  fireplace  vividly  played  about  his  legs. 

**I  think,"  he  could  not  help  observing,  bitterly, 
"that  with  all  I  have  to  bear,  they  might  have  given 
me  decent  weather." 

There  was  no  bread  in  the  house,  for  Miss  Hazeltine 
(like  all  women  left  to  themselves)  had  subsisted  en- 
tirely upon  cake.  But  some  of  this  was  found,  and 
(along  with  what  th^  poets  call  a  glass  of  fair,  cold 
water)  made  up  a  semblance  of  a  morning  meal.  And 
then  down  he  sat  undauntedly  to  his  delicate  task. 

Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  study  of 
signatures,  written  (as  they  are)  before  meals  and  after, 
during  indigestion  and  intoxication ;  written  when  the 
signer  is  trembling  for  the  life  of  his  child,  or  has  come 
from  winning  the  Derby,  in  his  lawyer's  office,  or  under 
the  bright  eyes  of  his  sweetheart.  To  the  vulgar,  these 
seem  never  the  same ;  but  to  the  expert,  the  bank  clerk, 
or  the  lithographer,  they  are  constant  quantities  and  as 
recognisable  as  the  North  Star  to  the  night-watch  on 
deck. 

To  all  this  Morris  was  alive.  In  the  theory  of  that 
graceful  art  in  which  he  was  now  embarking,  our 
spirited  leather  merchant  was  beyond  all  reproach.  But 
happily  for  the  investor,  forgery  is  an  affair  of  practice. 
And  as  Morris  sat  surrounded  by  examples  of  his  uncle's 
signature,  and  his  own  incompetence,  insidious  depres- 
sion stole  upon  his  spirits.  From  time  to  time  the  wind 
wuthered  in  the  chimney  at  his  back;  from  time  to  time 

77 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

there  swept  over  Bloomsbury  a  squall  so  dark  that  he 
must  rise  and  light  the  gas ;  about  him  was  the  chill  and 
the  mean  disorder  of  a  house  out  of  commission  —  the 
floor  bare,  the  sofa  heaped  with  books  and  accounts  en- 
veloped in  a  dirty  table-cloth,  the  pens  rusted,  the  paper 
glazed  with  a  thick  film  of  dust;  and  yet  these  were  but 
adminicles  of  misery,  and  the  true  root  of  his  depression 
lay  round  him  on  the  table  in  the  shape  of  misbegotten 
forgeries. 

"It's  one  of  the  strangest  things  I  ever  heard  of,"  he 
complained.  **  It  almost  seems  as  if  it  was  a  talent  that 
I  didn't  possess. "  He  went  once  piore  minutely  through 
his  proofs.  **  A  clerk  would  simply  gibe  at  them,"  said 
he.     **Well,  there's  nothing  else  but  tracing  possible." 

He  waited  till  a  squall  had  passed  and  there  came  a 
blink  of  scowling  daylight.  Then  he  went  to  the  win- 
dow, and  in  the  face  of  all  John  Street  traced  his  uncle's 
signature.  It  was  a  poor  thing  at  the  best.  "But  it 
must  do,"  said  he,  as  he  stood  gazing  wofully  on  his 
handiwork.  "He's  dead  anyway."  And  he  filled  up 
the  cheque  for  a  couple  of  a  hundred  and  sallied  forth 
for  the  Anglo-Patagonian  Bank. 

There,  at  the  desk  at  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
transact  business,  and  with  as  much  indifference  as  he 
could  assume,  Morris  presented  the  forged  cheque  to 
the  big,  red-bearded  Scots  teller.  The  teller  seemed  to 
view  it  with  surprise;  and  as  he  turned  it  this  way  and 
that,  and  even  scrutinised  the  signature  with  a  magni- 
fying glass,  his  surprise  appeared  to  warm  into  disfavour. 
Begging  to  be  excused  for  a  moment,  he  passed  away 
into  the  rearmost  quarters  of  the  bank;  whence,  after 
an  appreciable  interval,  he  returned  again  in  earnest 

78 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE   FIRST 

talk  with  a  superior,  an  oldish  and  a  baldish,  but  a  very 
gentlemanly  man. 

"Mr.  Morris  Finsbury,  I  believe,"  said  the  gentle- 
manly man,  fixing  Morris  with  a  pair  of  double  eye- 
glasses. 

**That  is  my  name,"  said  Morris,  quavering.  "Is 
there  anything  wrong  ?  " 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  Mr.  Finsbury,  you  see  we  are 
rather  surprised  at  receiving  this, "  said  the  other,  flick- 
ing at  the  cheque.     "There  are  no  effects." 

"No  effects.^"  cried  Morris.  "Why,  I  know  my- 
self there  must  be  eight  and  twenty  hundred  pounds,  if 
there's  a  penny." 

"Two  seven  six  four,  I  think/'  replied  the  gentle- 
manly man;  "but  it  was  drawn  yesterday." 

" Drawn! "  cried  Morris. 

"By  your  uncle  himself,  sir,"  continued  the  other. 
"Not  only  that,  but  we  discounted  a  bill  for  him  for — 
let  me  see  —  how  much  was  it  for,  Mr.  Bell?" 

"  Eight  hundred,  Mr.  Judkin,"  replied  the  teller. 

"  Dent  Pitman! "  cried  Morris,  staggering  back. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Judkin. 

"It's  —  it's  only  an  expletive,"  said  Morris. 

"I  hope  there's  nothing  wrong,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  said 
Mr.  Bell. 

"All  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Morris,  with  a  harsh  laugh, 
"is  that  the  whole  thing's  impossible.  My  uncle  is  at 
Bournemouth,  unable  to  move." 

"Really!"  cried  Mr.  Bell,  and  he  recovered  the 
cheque  from  Mr.  Judkin.  "  But  this  cheque  is  dated  in 
London,  and  to-day,"  he  observed.  "How  d'ye  ac- 
count for  that,  sir  ?  " 

79 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

**0h,  that  was  a  mistake/'  said  Morris,  and  a  deep 
tide  of  colour  dyed  his  face  and  neck. 

**No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Judkin,  but  he 
looked  at  his  customer  kiquiringly. 

**And  —  and — ,"  resumed  Morris,  **even  if  there 
were  no  effects  —  this  is  a  very  trifling  sum  to  over- 
draw—  our  firm  —  the  name  of  Finsbury  is  surely  good 
enough  for  such  a  wretched  sum  as  this.*' 

**No  doubt,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  returned  Mr.  Judkin; 
"and  if  you  insist  I  will  take  it  into  consideration;  but 
I  hardly  think — in  short,  Mr.  Finsbury,  if  there  had 
been  nothing  else,  the  signature  seems  hardly  all  that 
we  could  wish." 

** That's  of  no  consequence,"  replied  Morris,  nervous- 
ly. **ril  get  my  uncle  to  sign  another.  The  fact  is," 
he  went  on,  with  a  bold  stroke,  "my  uncle  is  so  far 
from  well  at  present  that  he  was  unable  to  sign  this 
cheque  without  assistance,  and  I  fear  that  my  holding 
the  pen  for  him  may  have  made  the  difference  in  the 
signature." 

Mr.  Judkin  shot  a  keen  glance  into  Morris's  face;  and 
then  turned  and  looked  at  Mr.  Bell. 

**Well,"  he  said,  **it  seems  as  if  we  have  been  vic- 
timised by  a  swindler.  Pray  tell  Mr.  Finsbury  we  shall 
put  detectives  on  at  once.  As  for  this  cheque  of  yours, 
I  regret  that,  owing  to  the  way  it  was  signed,  the  bank 
can  hardly  consider  it  —  what  shall  I  say? — business- 
like," and  he  returned  the  cheque  across  the  counter. 

Morris  took  it  up  mechanically,  he  was  thinking  of 
something  very  different. 

**In  a  case  of  this  kind,"  he  began,  "I  believe  the 
loss  falls  on  us;  I  mean  upon  my  uncle  and  myself." 

80 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE   FIRST 

*'It  does  not,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Bell;  *'the  bank  is  re- 
sponsible, and  the  bank  will  either  recover  the  money 
or  refund  it,  you  may  depend  on  that." 

Morris's  face  fell ;  then  it  was  visited  by  another  gleam 
of  hope. 

**ril  tell  you  what,"  he  said,  "you  leave  this  entirely 
in  my  hands.  I'll  sift  the  matter.  I've  an  idea,  at  any 
rate;  and  detectives,"  he  added  appealingly,  *'are  so 
expensive." 

**The  bank  would  not  hear  of  it,"  returned  Mr.  Jud- 
kin.  "The  bank  stands  to  lose  between  three  and  four 
thousand  pounds ;  it  will  spend  as  much  more  if  neces- 
sary. An  undiscovered  forger  is  a  permanent  danger. 
We  shall  clear  it  up  to  the  bottom,  Mr.  Finsbury,  set 
your  mind  at  rest  on  that." 

"Then  I'll  stand  the  loss,"  said  Morris,  boldly.  "I 
order  you  to  abandon  the  search."  He  was  determined 
that  no  inquiry  should  be  made. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  returned  Mr.  Judkin,  "but  we 
have  nothing  to  do  with  you  in  this  matter,  which  is 
one  between  your  uncle  and  ourselves.  If  he  should 
take  this  opinion,  and  will  either  come  here  himself  or 
will  let  me  see  him  in  his  sick-room " 

"Quite  impossible,"  cried  Morris. 

"Well  then,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Judkin,  "how  my 
hands  are  tied.  The  whole  affair  must  go  at  once  into 
the  hands  of  the  police." 

Morris  mechanically  folded  the  cheque  and  restored  it 
to  his  pocket-book. 

"Good-morning,"  said  he,  and  scrambled  somehow 
out  of  the  bank. 

"I  don't  know  what  they  suspect,"  he  reflected,  "I 

8i 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

can't  make  them  out,  their  whole  behaviour  is  thor- 
oughly unbusiness-like.  But  it  doesn't  matter:  all's  up 
with  everything.  The  money  has  been  paid ;  the  police 
are  on  the  scent;  in  two  hours,  that  idiot  Pitman  will 
be  nabbed  —  and  the  whole  story  of  the  dead  body  in 
the  evening  papers." 

If  he  could  have  heard  what  passed  in  the  bank  after 
his  departure,  he  would  have  been  less  alarmed,  perhaps 
more  mortified. 

**  That  was  a  curious  affair,  Mr.  Bell,"  said  Mr.  Judkin. 

**  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bell,  "  but  I  think  we  have  given 
him  a  fright." 

**  Oh,  we  shall  hear  no  more  of  Mr.  Morris  Finsbury," 
returned  the  other;  "it  was  a  first  attempt,  and  the 
house  have  dealt  with  us  so  long  that  1  was  anxious  to 
deal  gently.  But  I  suppose,  Mr.  Bell,  there  can  be  no 
mistake  about  yesterday.?  It  was  old  Mr.  Finsbury 
himself.?" 

''There  could  be  no  possible  doubt  of  that,"  said  Mr. 
Bell,  with  a  chuckle.  "  He  explained  to  me  the  princi- 
ples of  banking." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Judkin.  "The  next  time  he 
calls,  ask  him  to  step  into  my  room.  It  is  only  proper 
he  should  be  warned." 


82 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN   WHICH  WILLIAM   DENT  PITMAN   TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE 

Norfolk  Street,  King's  Road — jocularly  known 
among  Mr.  Pitman's  lodgers  as  "Norfolk  Island,"  is 
neither  a  long,  a  handsome,  nor  a  pleasing  thoroughfare. 
Dirty,  undersized  maids-of-all-work  issue  from  it  in 
pursuit  of  beer,  or  linger  on  its  sidewalk  listening  to  the 
voice  of  love.  The  cat's-meat  man  passes  twice  a  day. 
An  occasional  organ-grinder  wanders  in  and  wanders 
out  again,  disgusted.  In  holiday  time  the  street  is  the 
arena  of  the  young  bloods  of  the  neighbourhood,  and 
the  householders  have  an  opportunity  of  studying  the 
manly  art  of  self-defence.  And  yet  Norfolk  Street  has 
one  claim  to  be  respectable,  for  it  contains  not  a  single 
shop  —  unless  you  count  the  public  house  at  the  corner, 
which  is  really  in  the  King's  Road. 

The  door  of  No.  7  bore  a  brass  plate  inscribed  with 
the  legend  ''  W.  D.  Pitman,  Artist."  It  was  not  a  par- 
ticularly clean  brass  plate,  nor  was  No.  7  itself  a  par- 
ticularly inviting  place  of  residence.  And  yet  it  had  a 
character  of  its  own,  such  as  may  well  quicken  the  pulse 
of  the  reader's  curiosity.  For  here  was  the  home  of  an 
artist  —  and  a  distinguished  artist  too,  highly  distin- 
guished by  his  ill-success  —  which  had  never  been  made 
the  subject  of  an  article  in  the  illustrated  magazines.    No 

83 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

wood-engraver  had  ever  reproduced  "a.  corner  in  the 
back  drawing-room "  or  ''the  studio  mantelpiece"  of 
No.  7;  no  young  lady  author  had  ever  commented  on 
"the unaffected  simplicity"  with  which  Mr.  Pitman  re- 
ceived her  in  the  midst  of  his  "treasures."  It  is  an 
omission  I  would  gladly  supply,  but  our  business  is  only 
with  the  backward  parts  and  "  abject  rear  "  of  this  aes- 
thetic dwelling. 

Here  was  a  garden,  boasting  a  dwarf  fountain  (that 
never  played)  in  the  centre,  a  few  grimy-looking  flowers 
in  pots,  two  or  three  newly-planted  trees  which  the  spring 
of  Chelsea  visited  without  noticeable  consequence,  and 
two  or  three  statues  after  the  antique,  representing  sa- 
tyrs and  nymphs  in  the  worst  possible  style  of  sculp- 
tured art.  On  one  side,  the  garden  was  over-shadowed 
by  a  pair  of  crazy  studios,  usually  hired  out  to  the  more 
obscure  and  youthful  practitioners  of  British  art.  Oppo- 
site these  another  lofty  out-building,  somewhat  more 
carefully  finished,  and  boasting  of  a  communication 
with  the  house  and  a  private  door  on  the  back  lane, 
enshrined  the  multifarious  industry  of  Mr.  Pitman.  All 
day,  it  is  true,  he  was  engaged  in  the  work  of  educa- 
tion at  a  seminary  for  young  ladies ;  but  the  evenings  at 
least  were  his  own,  and  these  he  would  prolong  far 
into  the  night,  now  dashing  off  A  landscape  with  water- 
fall  in  oil,  now  a  volunteer  bust  ("in  marble,"  as  he 
would  gently  but  proudly  observe)  of  some  public 
character,  now  stooping  his  chisel  to  a  mere  nymph 
("  for  a  gas-bracket  on  a  stair,  sir  "),  or  a  life-size  Infant 
Samuel  for  a  religious  nursery.  Mr.  Pitman  had  studied 
in  Paris,  arid  he  had  studied  in  Rome,  supplied  with 
funds  by  a  fond  parent  who  went  subsequently  bank' 

84 


IN  WHICH  WILLIAM   DENT  PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE 

-upt,  in  consequence  of  a  fall  in  corsets ;  and  though  he 
was  never  thought  to  have  the  smallest  modicum  of 
talent,  it  was  at  one  time  supposed  that  he  had  learned 
his  business.  Eighteen  years  of  what  is  called  * '  tuition  " 
had  relieved  him  of  the  dangerous  knowledge.  His  artist 
lodgers  would  sometimes  reason  with  him ;  they  would 
point  out  to  him  how  impossible  it  was  to  paint  by  gas- 
light, or  to  sculpture  life-sized  nymphs  without  a  model. 

**I  know  that,"  he  would  reply.  ''No  one  in  Nor- 
folk Street  knows  it  better;  and  if  I  were  rich  I  should 
certainly  employ  the  best  models  in  London ;  but  being 
poor,  I  have  taught  myself  to  do  without  them.  An 
occasional  model  would  only  disturb  my  ideal  concep- 
tion of  the  figure,  and  be  a  positive  impediment  in  my 
career.  As  for  painting  by  an  artificial  light,"  he  would 
continue,  "that  is  simply  a  knack  I  have  found  it  neces- 
sary to  acquire,  my  days  being  engrossed  in  the  work 
of  tuition." 

At  the  moment  when  we  must  present  him  to  our 
readers,  Pitman  was  in  his  studio  alone,  by  the  dying 
light  of  the  October  day.  He  sat  (sure  enough  with 
**  unaffected  simplicity  ")  in  a  Windsor  chair,  his  low- 
crowned  black  felt  hat  by  his  side ;  a  dark,  weak,  harm- 
less, pathetic  little  man,  clad  in  the  hue  of  mourning, 
his  coat  longer  than  is  usual  with  the  laity,  his  neck 
enclosed  in  a  collar  without  a  parting,  his  neckcloth 
pale  in  hue  and  simply  tied;  the  whole  outward  man, 
except  for  a  pointed  beard,  tentatively  clerical.  There 
was  a  thinning  on  the  top  of  Pitman's  head,  there  were 
silver  hairs  at  Pitman's  temple;  poor  gentleman,  he  was 
no  longer  young;  and  years,  and  poverty,  and  humble 
ambition  thwarted,  make  a  cheerless  lot. 

85 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

In  front  of  him,  in  the  corner  by  the  door,  there  stood 
a  portly  barrel ;  and  let  him  turn  them  where  he  might, 
it  was  always  to  the  barrel  that  his  eyes  and  his  thoughts 
returned. 

**  Should  I  open  it?  Should  I  return  it?  Should  I 
communicate  with  Mr.  Semitopolis  at  once  ?  "  he  won- 
dered. "No,"  he  concluded  finally,  "  nothing  without 
Mr.  Finsbury's  advice."  And  he  arose  and  produced  a 
shabby  leathern  desk.  It  opened  without  the  formality 
of  unlocking,  and  displayed  the  thick  cream-coloured 
note  paper  on  which  Mr.  Pitman  was  in  the  habit  of 
communicating  with  the  proprietors  of  schools  and  the 
parents  of  his  pupils.  He  placed  the  desk  on  the  table 
by  the  window,  and  taking  a  saucer  of  Indian  ink  from 
the  chimney-piece,  laboriously  composed  the  following 
letter: 

**  My  dear  Mr.  Finsbury,"  it  ran,  "would  it  be  presuming  on  your 
kindness  if  I  asked  you  to  pay  me  a  visit  here  this  evening  ?  It  is  in 
no  trifling  matter  that  I  invoke  your  valuable  assistance,  for  need  I  say 
more  than  it  concerns  the  welfare  of  Mr.  Semitopolis's  statue  of  Her- 
cules? I  write  you  in  great  agitation  of  mind;  for  I  have  made  all  in- 
quiries, and  greatly  fear  that  this  work  of  ancient  art  has  been  mislaid. 
I  labour  besides  under  another  perplexity,  not  unconnected  with  the 
first.  Pray  excuse  the  inelegance  of  this  scrawl,  and  believe  me  yours 
in  haste,  William  D.  Pitman." 

Armed  with  this  he  set  forth  and  rang  the  bell  of  No. 
233  King's  Road,  the  private  residence  of  Michael  Fins- 
bury.  He  had  met  the  lawyer  at  a  time  of  great  public 
excitement  in  Chelsea;  Michael,  who  had  a  sense  of  hu- 
mour and  a  great  deal  of  careless  kindness  in  his  nature, 
followed  the  acquaintance  up,  and  having  come  to  laugh, 
remained  to  drop  into  a  contemptuous  kind  of  friend- 

86 


IN  WHICH  WILLIAM   DENT   PITMAN  TAKES   LEGAL  ADVICE 

ship.  By  this  time,  which  was  four  years  after  the  first 
meeting,  Pitman  was  the  lawyer's  dog. 

"No,"  said  the  elderly  housekeeper  who  opened  the 
door  in  person,  "Mr.  Michael's  not  in  yet.  But  ye're 
looking  terrible  poorly,  Mr.  Pitman.  Take  a  glass  of 
sherry,  sir,  to  cheer  ye  up." 

"No,  I  thank  you,  ma'am,"  replied  the  artist.  "It  is 
very  good  in  you,  but  I  scarcely  feel  in  sufficient  spirits 
for  sherry.  Just  give  Mr.  Finsbury  this  note,  and  ask 
him  to  look  round  —  to  the  door  in  the  lane,  you  will 
please  tell  him;  I  shall  be  in  the  studio  all  evening." 

And  he  turned  again  into  the  street  and  walked  slowly 
homeward.  A  hair-dresser's  window  caught  his  atten- 
tion, and  he  stared  long  and  earnestly  at  the  proud,  high- 
born, waxen  lady  in  evening  dress,  who  circulated  in 
the  centre  of  the  show.  The  artist  woke  in  him,  in 
spite  of  his  troubles. 

"It is  all  very  well  to  run  down  the  men  who  make 
these  things,"  he  cried,  "but  there's  a  something  — 
there's  a  haughty,  indefinable  something  about  that 
figure.  It's  what  I  tried  for  in  my  Empress  Eugtnie, ' ' 
he  added,  with  a  sigh. 

And  he  went  home  reflecting  on  the  quality.  "They 
don't  teach  you  that  direct  appeal  in  Paris,"  bethought. 
"It's  British.  Come,  I  am  going  to  sleep,  I  must  wake 
up,  I  must  aim  higher — aim  higher,"  cried  the  little  ar- 
tist to  himself.  All  through  his  tea  and  afterward,  as 
he  was  giving  his  eldest  boy  a  lesson  on  the  fiddle,  his 
mind  dwelt  no  longer  on  his  troubles,  but  he  was  wrapt 
into  the  better  land ;  and  no  sooner  was  he  at  liberty 
than  he  hastened  with  positive  exhilaration  to  his  studio. 

Not  even  the  sight  of  the  barrel  could  entirely  cast  him 
87 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

down.  He  flung  himself  with  rising  zest  into  his  work 
—  a  bust  of  Mr.  Gladstone  from  a  photograph ;  turned 
(with  extraordinary  success)  the  difficulty  of  the  back 
of  the  head,  for  which  he  had  no  documents  beyond  a 
hazy  recollection  of  a  public  meeting;  delighted  himself 
by  his  treatment  of  the  collar;  and  was  only  recalled  to 
the  cares  of  life  by  Michael  Finsbury's  rattle  at  the  door. 

''Well,  what's  wrong?"  said  Michael,  advancing  to 
the  grate  where,  knowing  his  friend's  delight  in  a  bright 
fire,  Mr.  Pitman  had  not  spared  the  fuel.  "I  suppose 
you  have  come  to  grief  somehow." 

"There  is  no  expression  strong  enough,"  said  the 
artist.  **Mr.  Semitopolis's  statue  has  not  turned  up, 
and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  answerable  for  the  money ;  but 
I  think  nothing  of  that  —  what  I  fear,  my  dear  Mr.  Fins- 
bury,  what  I  fear  —  alas,  that  1  should  have  to  say  it!  — 
is  exposure.  The  Hercules  was  to  be  smuggled  out  of 
Italy ;  a  thing  positively  wrong,  a  thing  in  which  a  man 
of  my  principles  and  in  my  responsible  position  should 
have  taken  (as  I  now  see  too  late)  no  part  whatever." 

''This  sounds  like  very  serious  work,"  said  the  law- 
yer.    "  It  will  require  a  great  deal  of  drink.  Pitman." 

"I  took  the  liberty  of — in  short,  of  being  prepared 
for  you,"  replied  the  artist,  pointing  to  a  kettle,  a  bottle 
of  gin,  a  lemon,  and  glasses. 

Michael  mixed  himself  a  grog,  and  offered  the  artist  a 
cigar. 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  Pitman.  "I  used  occasion- 
ally to  be  rather  partial  to  it,  but  the  smell  is  so  disagree- 
able about  the  clothes." 

"All  right,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  I  am  comfortable 
now.     Unfold  your  tale." 


IN  WHICH  WILLIAM   DENT  PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE 

At  some  length,  Pitman  set  forth  his  sorrows.  He 
had  gone  to-day  to  Waterloo,  expecting  to  receive  the 
colossal  Hercules,  and  he  had  received  instead  a  barrel 
not  big  enough  to  hold  Discobolus ;  yet  the  barrel  was 
addressed  in  the  hand  (with  which  he  was  perfectly  ac- 
quainted) of  his  Roman  correspondent.  What  was 
stranger  still,  a  case  had  arrived  by  the  same  train,  large 
enough  and  heavy  enough  to  contain  the  Hercules ;  and 
this  case  had  been  taken  to  an  address  now  undiscover- 
able.  "The  van  man  (I  regret  to  say  it)  had  been 
drinking,  and  his  language  was  such  as  I  could  never 
bring  myself  to  repeat.  He  was  at  once  discharged  by 
the  superintendent  of  the  line,  who  behaved  most  prop- 
erly throughout  and  is  to  make  inquiries  at  Southamp- 
ton. In  the  meanwhile,  what  was  I  to  do  ?  1  left  my 
address  and  brought  the  barrel  home;  but  remembering 
an  old  adage,  I  determined  not  to  open  it  except  in  the 
presence  of  my  lawyer." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Michael.  "\  don't  see  any  cause 
to  worry.  The  Hercules  has  stuck  upon  the  road.  It 
will  drop  in  to-morrow  or  the  day  after;  and  as  for  the 
barrel,  depend  upon  it,  it's  a  testimonial  from  one  of 
your  young  ladies,  and  probably  contains  oysters." 

"  Oh,  don't  speak  so  loud ! "  cried  the  little  artist.  "  It 
would  cost  me  my  place  if  I  were  heard  to  speak  lightly 
of  the  young  ladies,  and  besides,  why  oysters  from  Italy  ? 
and  why  should  they  come  to  me  addressed  in  Signor 
Ricardi's  hand.^" 

''Well,  let's  have  a  look  at  it,"  said  Michael.  **  Let's 
roll  it  forward  to  the  light." 

The  two  men  rolled  the  barrel  from  the  corner,  and 
stood  it  on  end  before  the  fire. 

89 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

**  It's  heavy  enough  to  be  oysters,"  remarked  Michael, 
judiciously. 

*' Shall  we  open  it  at  once?"  inquired  the  artist,  who 
had  grown  decidedly  cheerful  under  the  combined 
effects  of  company  and  gin ;  and  without  waiting  for  a 
reply,  he  began  to  strip  as  if  for  a  prize-fight,  tossed 
his  clerical  collar  in  the  waste-paper  basket,  hung  his 
clerical  coat  upon  a  nail,  and  with  a  chisel  in  one  hand 
and  a  hammer  in  the  other,  struck  the  first  blow  of  the 
evening. 

''That's  the  style,  William  Dent!"  cried  Michael. 
"There's  fire  for  your  money!  It  may  be  a  romantic 
visit  from  one  of  the  young  ladies  —  a  sort  of  Cleopatra 
business.  Have  a  care,  and  don't  stave  in  Cleopatra's 
head." 

But  the  sight  of  Pitman's  alacrity  was  infectious.  The 
lawyer  could  sit  still  no  longer.  Tossing  his  cigar  into 
the  fire,  he  snatched  the  instrument  from  the  unwilling 
hands  of  the  artist,  and  fell  to  himself  Soon  the  sweat 
stood  in  beads  upon  his  large,  fair  brow;  his  stylish 
trousers  were  defaced  with  iron  rust,  and  the  state  of 
his  chisel  testified  to  misdirected  energies. 

A  cask  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  open,  even  when  you 
set  about  it  in  the  right  way ;  when  you  set  about  it 
wrongly,  the  whole  structure  must  be  resolved  into 
its  elements.  Such  was  the  course  pursued  alike  by 
the  artist  and  the  lawyer.  Presently  the  last  hoop  had 
been  removed  —  a  couple  of  smart  blows  tumbled  the 
staves  upon  the  ground  —  and  what  had  once  been  a 
barrel  was  no  more  than  a  confused  heap  of  broken 
and  distorted  boards. 

In  the  midst  of  these,  a  certain  dismal  something, 

90 


IN  WHICH  WILLIAM   DENT   PITMAN  TAKES   LEGAL  ADVICE 

swathed  in  blankets,  remained  for  an  instant  upright, 
and  then  toppled  to  one  side  and  heavily  collapsed  be- 
fore the  fire.  Even  as  the  thing  subsided,  an  eyeglass 
tingled  to  the  floor  and  rolled  toward  the  screaming 
Pitman. 

**Hold  your  tongue!"  said  Michael.  He  dashed  to 
the  house  door  and  locked  it;  then,  with  a  pale  face  and 
bitten  lip,  he  drew  near,  pulled  aside  a  corner  of  the 
swathing  blanket,  and  recoiled,  shuddering. 

There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  studio. 

**Now  tell  me,"  said  Michael,  in  a  low  voice:  "Had 
you  any  hand  in  it  ?  "  and  he  pointed  to  the  body. 

The  little  artist  could  only  utter  broken  and  disjointed 
sounds. 

Michael  poured  some  gin  into  a  glass.  ''Drink  that," 
he  said.  ''Don't  be  afraid  of  me.  I'm  your  friend 
through  thick  and  thin." 

Pitman  put  the  liquor  down  untasted. 

"I  swear  before  God,"  he  said,  "this  is  another  mys- 
tery to  me.  In  my  worst  fears,  I  never  dreamed  of  such 
a  thing.    I  would  not  lay  a  finger  on  a  sucking  infant." 

"That's  all  square,"  said  Michael,  with  a  sigh  of 
huge  relief.  "I  believe  you,  old  boy."  And  he  shook 
the  artist  warmly  by  the  hand.  "I  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment, "he  added,  with  rather  a  ghastly  smile,  "I  thought 
for  a  moment  you  might  have  made  way  with  Mr. 
Semitopolis." 

"  It  would  make  no  difference  if  I  had,"  groaned  Pit- 
man. "All  is  at  an  end  for  me.  There's  the  writing 
on  the  wall." 

"To  begin  with,"  said  Michael,  "let's  get  him  out  of 
sight;  for  to  be  quite  plain  with  you.  Pitman,  I  don't 

91 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

fike  your  friend's  appearance."  And  with  that  the  law- 
yer shuddered.     *'  Where  can  we  put  it  ?  " 

''You  might  put  it  in  the  closet  there — if  you  could 
bear  to  touch  it,"  answered  the  artist. 

"Somebody  has  to  do  it,  Pitman,"  returned  the  law- 
yer; **and  it  seems  as  if  it  had  to  be  me.  You  go  over 
to  the  table,  turn  your  back,  and  mix  me  a  grog;  that's 
a  fair  division  of  labour." 

About  ninety  seconds  later,  the  closet  door  was  heard 
to  shut. 

''There," observed  Michael,  "that's  more  home-like. 
You  can  turn  now,  my  pallid  Pitman.  Is  this  the  grog  ?" 
he  ran  on.     * '  Heaven  forgive  you,  it's  a  lemonade ! " 

"But  oh,  Finsbury,  what  are  we  to  do  with  it.^" 
wailed  the  artist,  laying  a  clutching  hand  upon  the  law- 
yer's arm. 

"  Do  with  it .?"  repeated  Michael.  "  Bury  it  in  one  of 
your  flower-beds,  and  erect  one  of  your  own  statues  for 
a  monument.  I  tell  you  we  should  look  devilish  roman- 
tic shovelling  out  the  sod  by  the  moon's  pale  ray.  Here, 
put  some  gin  in  this." 

"I  beg  of  you,  Mr.  Finsbury,  do  not  trifle  with  my 
misery,"  cried  Pitman.  "You  see  before  you  a  man 
who  has  been  all  his  life  —  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  it  — 
eminently  respectable.  Even  in  this  solemn  hour  I  can 
lay  my  hand  upon  my  heart  without  a  blush.  Except 
on  the  really  trifling  point  of  the  smuggling  of  the  Her- 
cules (and  even  of  that  I  now  humbly  repent),  my  life 
has  been  entirely  fit  for  publication.  I  never  feared  the 
light,"  cried  the  little  man;  "and  now  —  now  — !" 

"Cheer  up,  old  boy,"  said  Michael.  "I  assure  you 
we  should  count  this  little  contretemps  a  trifle  at  the 

92 


IN  WHICH  WILLIAM   DENT  PITMAN  TAKES  LEGAL  ADVICE 

office;  it's  the  sort  of  thing  that  may  occur  to  anyone; 
and  if  you're  perfectly  sure  you  had  no  hand  in  it " 

''What  language  am  I  to  find "  began  Pitman. 

*'0h,  I'll  do  that  part  of  it,"  interrupted  Michael, 
*'you  have  no  experience.  But  the  point  is  this:  If — 
or  rather  since  —  you  know  nothing  of  the  crime,  since 
the  —  the  party  in  the  closet  —  is  neither  your  father, 
nor  your  brother,  nor  your  creditor,  nor  your  mother- 
in-law,  nor  what  they  call  an  injured  husband " 

'*0h,  my  dear  sir!"  interjected  Pitman,  horrified. 

''Since,  in  short,"  continued  the  lawyer,  "you  had 
no  possible  interest  in  the  crime,  we  have  a  perfectly 
free  field  before  us  and  a  safe  game  to  play.  Indeed  the 
problem  is  really  entertaining;  it  is  one  I  have  long  con- 
templated in  the  light  of  an  A.  B.  case;  here  it  is  at  last 
under  my  hand  in  specie;  and  I  mean  to  pull  you 
through.  Do  you  hear  that?  —  I  mean  to  pull  you 
through.  Let  me  see:  it's  a  long  time  since  I  have  had 
what  I  call  a  genuine  holiday;  I'll  send  an  excuse  to- 
morrow to  the  office.  We  had  best  be  lively,"  he 
added,  significantly;  "for  we  must  not  spoil  the  mar- 
ket for  the  other  man." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  inquired  Pitman.  "What 
other  man  ?    The  inspector  of  police  ?  " 

"Damn  the  inspector  of  police!"  remarked  his  com- 
panion. "If  you  won't  take  the  short  cut  and  bury 
this  in  your  back  garden,  we  must  find  someone  who 
will  bury  it  in  his.  We  must  place  the  affair,  in  short, 
in  the  hands  of  someone  of  fewer  scruples  and  more 
resources." 

"A  private  detective,  perhaps?"  suggested  Pitman. 

"There  are  times  when  you  fill  me  with  pity,"  ob- 
93 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

served  the  lawyer.  ''  By  the  way,  Pitman,"  he  added, 
in  another  key,  ''I  have  always  regretted  that  you 
have  no  piano  in  this  den  of  yours.  Even  if  you  don't 
play  yourself,  your  friends  might  like  to  entertain  them- 
selves with  a  little  music  while  you  were  mudding." 

**I  shall  get  one  at  once  if  you  like,"  said  Pitman, 
nervously,  anxious  to  please.  **  I  play  the  fiddle  a  little 
as  it  is." 

'M  know  you  do,"  said  Michael;  *'but  what's  the 
fiddle  —  above  all  as  you  play  it?  What  you  want  is 
polyphonic  music.  And  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  since 
it's  too  late  for  you  to  buy  a  piano  I'll  give  you  mine." 

'* Thank  you,"  said  the  artist,  blankly.  ''You  will 
give  me  yours  ?    I  am  sure  it's  very  good  in  you." 

*'Yes,  I'll  give  you  mine,"  continued  Michael,  ''for 
the  inspector  of  police  to  play  on  while  his  men  are 
digging  up  your  back  garden." 

Pitman  stared  at  him  in  pained  amazement. 

"No,  I'm  not  insane,"  Michael  went  on.  "  I'm  play- 
ful but  quite  coherent.  See  here.  Pitman;  follow  me 
one  half  minute.  I  mean  to  profit  by  the  refreshing 
fact  that  we  are  really  and  truly  innocent;  nothing  but 
the  presence  of  the  —  you  know  what  —  connects  us 
with  the  crime;  once  let  us  get  rid  of  it,  no  matter 
how,  and  there  is  no  possible  clue  to  trace  us  by. 
Well,  I  give  you  my  piano;  we'll  bring  it  round  this 
very  night.  To-morrow,  we  rip  the  fittings  out,  de- 
posit the  —  our  friend  —  inside,  plump  the  whole  on  a 
cart,  and  carry  it  to  the  chambers  of  a  young  gentleman 
whom  I  know  by  sight." 

"Whom  you  know  by  sight .^"  repeated  Pitman. 

"And  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,"  continued 
94 


IN  WHICH  WILLIAM   DENT   PITMAN  TAKES   LEGAL  ADVICE 

Michael,  '*  whose  chambers  I  know  better  than  he  does 
himself.  A  friend  of  mine  —  I  call  him  my  friend  for 
brevity;  he  is  now,  I  understand,  in  Demerara  and 
(most  likely)  in  jail  —  was  the  previous  occupant.  I 
defended  him,  and  I  got  him  off  too  —  all  saved  but 
honour;  his  assets  were  nil,  but  he  gave  me  what  he 
had,  poor  gentleman,  and  along  with  the  rest  —  the  key 
of  his  chambers.  It's  there  that  I  propose  to  leave  the 
piano  and,  shall  we  say,  Cleopatra  ?  " 

* '  It  seems  very  wild, "  said  Pitman.  ' '  And  what  will 
become  of  the  poor  young  gentleman  whom  you  know 
by  sight  .^" 

*'It  will  do  him  good,"  said  Michael,  cheerily.  '*Just 
what  he  wants  to  steady  him." 

''But,  my  dear  sir,  he  might  be  involved  in  a  charge 
of —  a  charge  of  murder, "  gulped  the  artist. 

*'  Well,  he'll  be  just  where  we  are,"  returned  the  law- 
yer. "He's  innocent,  you  see.  What  hangs  people, 
my  dear  Pitman,  is  the  unfortunate  circumstance  of 
guilt." 

''But  indeed,  indeed,"  pleaded  Pitman,  "the  whole 
scheme  appears  to  me  so  wild.  Would  it  not  be  safer, 
after  all,  just  to  send  for  the  police  ?  " 

"And  make  a  scandal ? "  inquired  Michael.  "  ' The 
Chelsea  Mystery ;  alleged  innocence  of  Pitman  ? '  How 
would  that  do  at  the  Seminary  ?  " 

"  It  would  imply  my  discharge,"  admitted  the  draw- 
ing-master.    "  I  cannot  deny  that." 

"And  besides,"  said  Michael,  "I  am  not  going  to 
embark  in  such  a  business  and  have  no  fun  for  my 
money." 

"Oh,  my  dear  sir,  is  that  a  proper  spirit  ?  "cried  Pitman. 
95 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

**  Oh,  I  only  said  that  to  cheer  you  up,"  said  the  una- 
bashed Michael.  "Nothing  like  a  little  judicious  levity. 
But  it's  quite  needless  to  discuss.  If  you  mean  to  fol- 
low my  advice,  come  on,  and  let  us  get  the  piano  at 
once.  If  you  don't,  just  drop  me  the  word,  and  I'll 
leave  you  to  deal  with  the  whole  thing  according  to 
your  better  judgment." 

''You  know  perfectly  well  that  I  depend  on  you  en- 
tirely," returned  Pitman.  '*But  oh,  what  a  night  is 
before  me  with  that —  horror  in  my  studio!  How  am 
I  to  think  of  it  on  my  pillow  ?  " 

''Well,  you  know,  my  piano  will  be  there  too,"  said 
Michael.     "That'll  raise  the  average." 

An  hour  later  a  cart  came  up  the  lane,  and  the  law- 
yer's piano  —  a  momentous  Broadwood  grand  —  was 
deposited  in  Mr.  Pitman's  studio. 


96 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN   WHICH   MICHAEL   FINSBURY   ENJOYS  A   HOLIDAY 

Punctually  at  eight  o'clock  next  morning  the  lawyer 
rattled  (according  to  previous  appointment)  on  the 
studio  door.  He  found  the  artist  sadly  altered  for  the 
worse  —  bleached,  bloodshot,  and  chalky — a  man  upon 
wires,  the  tail  of  his  haggard  eye  still  wandering  to  the 
closet.  Nor  was  the  professor  of  drawing  less  inclined 
to  wonder  at  his  friend.  Michael  was  usually  attired 
in  the  height  of  fashion,  with  a  certain  mercantile  bril- 
liancy best  described  perhaps  as  stylish ;  nor  could  any- 
thing be  said  against  him,  as  a  rule,  but  that  he  looked 
a  trifle  too  like  a  wedding  guest  to  be  quite  a  gentle- 
man. To-day  he  had  fallen  altogether  from  these 
heights.  He  wore  a  flannel  shirt  of  washed-out  shep- 
herd's tartan,  and  a  suit  of  reddish  tweeds,  of  the  colour 
known  to  tailors  as  ''heather  mixture;"  his  neckcloth 
was  black,  and  tied  loosely  in  a  sailor's  knot;  a  rusty 
ulster  partly  concealed  these  advantages;  and  his  feet 
were  shod  with  rough  walking  boots.  His  hat  was 
an  old  soft  felt,  which  he  removed  with  a  flourish  as  he 
entered. 

"Here  I  am,  William  Dent!"  he  cried,  and  drawing 
from  his  pocket  two  little  wisps  of  reddish  hair,  he  held 
them  to  his  cheeks  like  side-whiskers  and  danced  about 
the  studio  with  the  filmy  graces  of  a  ballet-girl. 

97 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

Pitman  laughed  sadly.  "I  should  never  have  known 
you,"  said  he. 

**Nor  were  you  intended  to,"  returned  Michael,  re- 
placing his  false  whiskers  in  his  pocket.  "Now  we 
must  overhaul  you  and  your  wardrobe,  and  disguise 
you  up  to  the  nines." 

"Disguise!"  cried  the  artist.  "Must  I  indeed  dis- 
guise myself?    Has  it  come  to  that  ?  " 

"My  dear  creature,"  returned  his  companion,  "dis- 
guise is  the  spice  of  life.  What  is  life,  passionately 
exclaimed  the  French  philosopher,  without  the  plea- 
sures of  disguise  ?  I  don't  say  it's  always  good  taste, 
and  I  know  it's  unprofessional;  but  what's  the  odds, 
down-hearted  drawing-master  ?  It  has  to  be.  We 
have  to  leave  a  false  impression  on  the  minds  of  many 
persons,  and  in  particular  on  the  mind  of  Mr.  Gideon 
Forsyth  —  the  young  gentleman  I  know  by  sight  —  if 
he  should  have  the  bad  taste  to  be  at  home." 

"If  he  be  at  home.?"  faltered  the  artist.  "That 
would  be  the  end  of  all." 

"Won't  matter  a  d ,"  returned  Michael,  airily. 

"  Let  me  see  your  clothes,  and  I'll  make  a  new  man  of 
you  in  a  jiffy." 

In  the  bedroom,  to  which  he  was  at  once  conducted, 
Michael  examined  Pitman's  poor  and  scanty  wardrobe 
with  a  humorous  eye,  picked  out  a  short  jacket  of  black 
alpaca,  and  presently  added  to  that  a  pair  of  summer 
trousers  which  somehow  took  his  fancy  as  incongruous. 
Then,  with  the  garments  in  his  hand,  he  scrutinised  the 
artist  closely. 

' '  I  don't  like  that  clerical  collar, "  he  remarked.  ' '  Have 
you  nothing  else  ?  " 


IN   WHICH   MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A   HOLIDAY 

The  professor  of  drawing  pondered  for  a  moment, 
and  then  brightened;  "I  have  a  pair  of  low-necked 
shirts,"  he  said,  '*that  I  used  to  wear  in  Paris  as  a  stu- 
dent.    They  are  rather  loud." 

**  The  very  thing! "  ejaculated  Michael.  "  You  look 
perfectly  beastly.  Here  are  spats,  too,"  he  continued, 
drawing  forth  a  pair  of  those  offensive  little  gaiters. 
"Must  have  spats!  And  now  you  jump  into  these, 
and  whistle  a  tune  at  the  window  for  (say)  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour.  After  that  you  can  rejoin  me  on 
the  field  of  glory." 

So  saying  Michael  returned  to  the  studio.  It  was  the 
morning  of  the  easterly  gale;  the  wind  blew  shrilly 
among  the  statues  in  the  garden,  and  drove  the  rain 
upon  the  skylight  in  the  studio  ceiling;  and  at  about 
the  same  moment  of  time  when  Morris  attacked  the 
hundredth  version  of  his  uncle's  signature  in  Blooms- 
bury,  Michael,  in  Chelsea,  began  to  rip  the  wires  out  of 
the  Broadwood  grand. 

Three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  Pitman  was  admitted 
to  find  the  closet-door  standing  open,  the  closet  unten- 
anted, and  the  piano  discreetly  shut. 

"  It's  a  remarkably  heavy  instrument,"  observed 
Michael,  and  turned  to  consider  his  friend's  dis- 
guise. *'You  must  shave  off  that  beard  of  yours," 
he  said. 

"My  beard!"  cried  Pitman.     "I  cannot  shave  my 

beard.     I   cannot  tamper  with  my  appearance  —  my 

principals  would  object.     They  hold  very  strong  views 

as  to  the  appearance  of  the  professors  —  young  ladies 

are  considered  so  romantic.     My  beard  was  regarded 

as  quite  a  feature  when  I  went  about  the  place.     It  was 

99 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

regarded/'  said  the  artist,  with  rising  colour,  **it  was 
regarded  as  unbecoming." 

**  You  can  let  it  grow  again,"  returned  Michael,  "and 
then  you'll  be  so  precious  ugly  that  they'll  raise  your 
salary." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  look  ugly,"  cried  the  artist. 

''Don't  be  an  ass,"  said  Michael,  who  hated  beards 
and  was  delighted  to  destroy  one.  **  Off  with  it  like  a 
man!" 

''Of  course,  if  you  insist,"  said  Pitman;  and  then  he 
sighed,  fetched  some  hot  water  from  the  kitchen,  and 
setting  a  glass  upon  his  easel,  first  clipped  his  beard 
with  scissors  and  then  shaved  his  chin.  He  could  not 
conceal  from  himself,  as  he  regarded  the  result,  that  his 
last  claims  to  manhood  had  been  sacrificed,  but  Michael 
seemed  delighted. 

"  A  new  man,  1  declare!"  he  cried.  "When  1  give 
you  the  window-glass  spectacles  I  have  in  my  pocket, 
you'll  be  the  beau  ideal  of  a  French  commercial  trav- 
eller." 

Pitman  did  not  reply,  but  continued  to  gaze  discon- 
solately on  his  image  in  the  glass. 

"Do  you  know,"  asked  Michael,  "what  the  Gov- 
ernor of  South  Carolina  said  to  the  Governor  of  North 
Carolina?  'It's  a  long  time  between  drinks,'  ob- 
served that  powerful  thinker;  and  if  you  will  put  your 
hand  into  the  top  left-hand  pocket  of  my  ulster,  I  have 
an  impression  you  will  find  a  flask  of  brandy.  Thank 
you,  Pitman,"  he  added,  as  he  filled  out  a  glass  for 
each.     "Now  you  will  give  me  news  of  this-" 

The  artist  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  water-jug,  but 
Michael  arrested  the  movement. 

100 


IN   WHICH   MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY 

*'Not  if  you  went  upon  your  knees!"  he  cried. 
**This  is  the  finest  liqueur  brandy  in  Great  Britain." 

Pitman  put  his  lips  to  it,  set  it  down  again,  and 
sighed. 

**Well,  I  must  say  you're  the  poorest  companion  for 
a  holiday!  "  cried  Michael.  "  If  that's  all  you  know  of 
brandy,  you  shall  have  no  more  of  it;  and  while  I  finish 
the  flask,  you  may  as  well  begin  business.  Come  to 
think  of  it,"  he  broke  off,  "\  have  made  an  abominable 
error:  you  should  have  ordered  the  cart  before  you 
were  disguised.  Why,  Pitman,  what  the  devil's  the 
use  of  you  ?  why  couldn't  you  have  reminded  me  of 
that.?" 

*M  never  even  knew  there  was  a  cart  to  be  ordered," 
said  the  artist.  "  But  I  can  take  off  the  disguise  again," 
he  suggested  eagerly. 

*' You  would  find  it  rather  a  bother  to  put  on  your 
beard,"  observed  the  lawyer.  '*No,  it's  a  false  step; 
the  sort  of  thing  that  hangs  people,"  he  continued,  with 
eminent  cheerfulness,  as  he  sipped  his  brandy;  '*and  it 
can't  be  retraced  now.  Off  to  the  mews  with  you, 
make  all  the  arrangements;  they're  to  take  the  piano 
from  here,  cart  it  to  Victoria,  and  despatch  it  thence  by 
rail  to  Cannon  Street,  to  lie  till  called  for  in  the  name  of 
Fortune  du  Boisgobey." 

"Isn't  that  rather  an  awkward  name  ?"  pleaded  Pit- 
man. 

''Awkward?"  cried  Michael,  scornfully.  *' It  would 
hang  us  both !  Brown  is  both  safer  and  easier  to  pro- 
nounce.    Call  it  Brown." 

"I  wish,"  said  Pitman,  "for  my  sake,  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  talk  so  much  of  hanging." 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

** Talking  about  it's  nothing,  my  boy!"  returned 
Michael.  "  But  take  your  hat  and  be  off,  and  mind  and 
pay  everything  beforehand." 

Left  to  himself,  the  lawyer  turned  his  attention  for 
some  time  exclusively  to  the  liqueur  brandy,  and  his 
spirits,  which  had  been  pretty  fair  all  morning,  now 
prodigiously  rose.  He  proceeded  to  adjust  his  whiskers 
finally  before  the  glass.  "  Devilish  rich,"  he  remarked, 
as  he  contemplated  his  reflection;  "  I  look  like  a  purser's 
mate."  And  at  that  moment,  the  window-glass  spec- 
tacles (which  he  had  hitherto  destined  for  Pitman)  flashed 
into  his  mind;  he  put  them  on,  and  fell  in  love  with  the 
effect.  ''Just  what  I  required,"  he  said.  ''I  wonder 
what  I  look  like  now  ?  A  humorous  novelist,  I  should 
think,"  and  he  began  to  practise  divers  characters  of 
walk,  naming  them  to  himself  as  he  proceeded.  * '  Walk 
of  a  humorous  novelist  —  but  that  would  require  an  um- 
brella. Walk  of  a  purser's  mate.  Walk  of  an  Australian 
colonist  revisiting  the  scenes  of  childhood.  Walk  of 
Sepoy  colonel,  ditto,  ditto."  And  in  the  midst  of  the 
Sepoy  colonel  (which  was  an  excellent  assumption,  al- 
though inconsistent  with  the  style  of  his  make-up),  his 
eye  lighted  on  the  piano.  This  instrument  was  made 
to  lock  both  at  the  top  and  at  the  keyboard,  but  the  key 
of  the  latter  had  been  mislaid.  Michael  opened  it  and 
ran  his  fingers  over  the  dumb  keys.  ''  Fine  instrument 
—  full,  rich  tone,"  he  observed,  and  he  drew  in  a  seat. 

When  Mr.  Pitman  returned  to  the  studio,  he  was  ap- 
palled to  observe  his  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend  per- 
forming miracles  of  execution  on  the  silent  grand. 

''Heaven  help  me!"  thought  the  little  man,  "I  fear 
he  has  been  drinking!    Mr.  Finsbury,"  he  said  aloud; 


IN   WHICH   MICHAEL   FINSBURY   ENJOYS   A   HOLIDAY 

and  Michael,  without  rising,  turned  upon  him  a  coun- 
tenance somewhat  flushed,  encircled  with  the  bush  of 
the  red  whiskers,  and  bestridden  by  the  spectacles. 
''Capriccio  in  B-flat  on  the  departure  of  a  friend,"  said 
he,  continuing  his  noiseless  evolutions. 

Indignation  awoke  in  the  mind  of  Pitman.  "Those 
spectacles  were  to  be  mine,"  he  cried.  "They  are  an 
essential  part  of  my  disguise." 

"  I  am  going  to  wear  them  myself,"  replied  Michael; 
and  he  added,  with  some  show  of  truth,  "there  would 
be  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  suspicion  aroused  if  we  both  wore 
spectacles." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  the  assenting  Pitman,  "I  rather 
counted  on  them ;  but  of  course,  if  you  insist !  And  at 
any  rate,  here  is  the  cart  at  the  door." 

While  the  men  were  at  work,  Michael  concealed  him- 
self in  the  closet  among  the  debris  of  the  barrel  and  the 
wires  of  the  piano;  and  as  soon  as  the  coast  was  clear, 
the  pair  sallied  forth  by  the  lane,  jumped  into  a  hansom 
in  the  King's  Road,  and  were  driven  rapidly  toward 
town.  It  was  still  cold  and  raw  and  boisterous;  the 
rain  beat  strongly  in  their  faces,  but  Michael  refused  to 
have  the  glass  let  down;  he  had  now  suddenly  donned 
the  character  of  cicerone,  and  pointed  out  and  lucidly 
commented  on  the  sights  of  London,  as  they  drove. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  said,  "you  don't  seem  to  know 
anything  of  your  native  city.  Suppose  we  visited  the 
Tower  ?  No  ?  Well,  perhaps  it's  a  trifle  out  of  our 
way.  But  anyway  —  Here,  Cabby,  drive  round  by 
Trafalgar  Square!  "  And  on  that  historic  battle-field  he 
insisted  on  drawing  up,  while  he  criticised  the  statues 
and  gave  the  artist  many  curious  details  (quite  new  to 

103 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

history)  of  the  lives  of  the  celebrated  men  they  repre- 
sented. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  express  what  Pitman  suffered 
in  the  cab:  cold,  wet,  terror  in  the  capital  degree,  a 
grounded  distrust  of  the  commander  under  whom  he 
served,  a  sense  of  impudency  in  the  matter  of  the  low- 
necked  shirt,  a  bitter  sense  of  the  decline  and  fall  in- 
volved in  the  deprivation  of  his  beard,  all  these  were 
among  the  ingredients  of  the  bowl.  To  reach  the  res- 
taurant, for  which  they  were  deviously  steering,  was 
the  first  relief  To  hear  Michael  bespeak  a  private  room 
was  a  second  and  a  still  greater.  Nor,  as  they  mounted 
the  stair  under  the  guidance  of  an  unintelligible  alien, 
did  he  fail  to  note  with  gratitude  the  fewness  of  the  per- 
sons present,  or  the  still  more  cheering  fact  that  the 
greater  part  of  these  were  exiles  from  the  land  of  France. 
It  was  thus  a  blessed  thought  that  none  of  them  would 
be  connected  with  the  Seminary;  for  even  the  French 
professor,  though  admittedly  a  papist,  he  could  scarce 
imagine  frequenting  so  rakish  an  establishment. 

The  alien  introduced  them  into  a  small,  bare  room 
with  a  single  table,  a  sofa,  and  a  dwarfish  fire;  and  Mi- 
chael called  promptly  for  more  coals  and  a  couple  of 
brandies  and  sodas. 

''Oh,  no,"  said  Pitman,  ** surely  not — no  more  to 
drink." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  would  beat,"  said  Michael, 
plaintively.  ' '  It's  positively  necessary  to  do  something ; 
and  one  shouldn't  smoke  before  meals  —  I  thought  that 
was  understood.  You  seem  to  have  no  idea  of  hygiene. " 
And  he  compared  his  watch  with  the  clock  upon  the 
chimney-piece. 

104 


IN  WHICH   MICHAEL   FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A   HOLIDAY 

Pitman  fell  into  bitter  musing;  here  he  was,  ridicu- 
lously shorn,  absurdly  disguised,  in  the  company  of  a 
drunken  man  in  spectacles,  and  waiting  for  a  champagne 
luncheon  in  a  restaurant  painfully  foreign.  What  would 
his  principals  think,  if  they  could  see  him  ?  What,  if 
they  knew  his  tragic  and  deceitful  errand  ? 

From  these  reflections  he  was  aroused  by  the  entrance 
of  the  alien  with  the  brandies  and  sodas.  Michael  took 
one  and  bade  the  waiter  pass  the  other  to  his  friend. 

Pitman  waved  it  from  him  with  his  hand.  *' Don't 
let  me  lose  all  self-respect,"  he  said. 

"Anything  to  oblige  a  friend,"  returned  Michael. 
*'But  I'm  not  going  to  drink  alone.  Here,"  he  added 
to  the  waiter,  "you  take  it."  And  then,  touching  glasses, 
"The  health  of  Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth,"  said  he. 

"Meestare  Gidden  Borsye,"  replied  the  waiter,  and 
he  tossed  off  the  liquor  in  four  gulps. 

"Have  another?"  said  Michael,  with  undisguised  in- 
terest. "I  never  saw  a  man  drink  faster.  It  restores 
one's  confidence  in  the  human  race." 

But  the  waiter  excused  himself  politely,  and  assisted 
by  someone  from  without,  began  to  bring  in  lunch. 

Michael  made  an  excellent  meal,  which  he  washed 
down  with  a  bottle  of  Heidsieck's  dry  monopole.  As 
for  the  artist,  he  was  far  too  uneasy  to  eat,  and  his  com- 
panion flatly  refused  to  let  him  share  in  the  champagne 
unless  he  did. 

"One  of  us  must  stay  sober,"  remarked  the  lawyer, 
"and  I  won't  give  you  champagne  on  the  strength  of 
a  leg  of  grouse.  I  have  to  be  cautious,"  he  added,  con- 
fidentially. "One  drunken  man,  excellent  business  — 
two  drunken  men,  all  my  eye." 

105 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

On  the  production  of  coffee  and  departure  of  the 
waiter,  Michael  might  have  been  observed  to  make  por- 
tentous efforts  after  gravity  of  mien.  He  looked  his 
friend  in  the  face  (one  eye  perhaps  a  trifle  off),  and  ad- 
dressed him  thickly  but  severely. 

*' Enough  of  this  fooling,"  was  his  not  inappropriate 
exordium.  "  To  business.  Mark  me  closely.  I  am  an 
Australian.  My  name  is  John  Dickson,  though  you 
mightn't  think  it  from  my  unassuming  appearance.  You 
will  be  relieved  to  hear  that  I  am  rich,  sir,  very  rich. 
You  can't  go  into  this  sort  of  thing  too  thoroughly.  Pit- 
man ;  the  whole  secret  is  preparation,  and  I  get  up  my 
biography  from  the  beginning,  and  I  could  tell  it  you 
now,  only  I  have  forgotten  it." 

"  Perhaps  I'm  stupid "  began  Pitman. 

*' That's  it!  "  cried  Michael.  "Very  stupid;  but  rich 
too  —  richer  than  I  am.  I  thought  you  would  enjoy  it, 
Pitman,  so  I've  arranged  that  you  were  to  be  literally 
wallowing  in  wealth.  But  then,  on  the  other  hand, 
you're  only  an  American,  and  a  maker  of  india-rubber 
overshoes  at  that.  And  the  worst  of  it  is  —  why  should 
I  conceal  it  from  you  —  the  worst  of  it  is  that  you're 
called  Ezra  Thomas.  Now,"  said  Michael,  with  a  really 
appalling  seriousness  of  manner,  ''tell  me  who  we  are." 

The  unfortunate  little  man  was  cross-examined  till  he 
knew  these  facts  by  heart. 

''There!"  cried  the  lawyer.  "Our  plans  are  laid. 
Thoroughly  consistent  —  that's  the  great  thing." 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  objected  Pitman. 

"Oh,  you'll  understand  right  enough  when  it  comes 
to  the  point,"  said  Michael,  rising. 

"There  doesn't  seem  any  story  to  it, "said  the  artist. 
1 06 


IN  WHICH   MICHAEL   FINSBURY   ENJOYS  A   HOLIDAY 

"We  can  invent  one  as  we  go  along,"  returned  the 
lawyer. 

"But  I  can't  invent,"  protested  Pitman.  "I  never 
could  invent  in  all  my  life." 

"You'll  find  you  have  to,  my  boy,"  was  Michael's 
easy  comment,  and  he  began  calling  for  the  waiter,  with 
whom  he  at  once  resumed  a  sparkling  conversation. 

It  was  a  down-cast  little  man  that  followed  him.  ' '  Of 
course  he  is  very  clever,  but  can  I  trust  him  in  such  a 
state?"  he  asked  himself  And  when  they  were  once 
more  in  a  hansom,  he  took  heart  of  grace. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  he  faltered,  "it  would  be  wiser, 
considering  all  things,  to  put  this  business  off?" 

"  Put  off  till  to-morrow  what  can  be  done  to-day  ?" 
cried  Michael,  with  indignation.  "Never  heard  of  such 
a  thing !  Cheer  up,  it's  all  right,  go  in  and  win  — there's 
a  lion-hearted  Pitman! " 

At  Cannon  Street,  they  inquired  for  Mr.  Brown's 
piano,  which  had  duly  arrived,  drove  thence  to  a  neigh- 
bouring mews,  where  they  contracted  for  a  cart,  and 
while  that  was  being  got  ready,  took  shelter  in  the  har- 
ness-room beside  the  stove.  Here  the  lawyer  presently 
toppled  against  the  wall  and  fell  into  a  gentle  slumber; 
so  that  Pitman  found  himself  launched  on  his  own  re- 
sources in  the  midst  of  several  staring  loafers,  such  as 
love  to  spend  unprofitable  days  about  a  stable. 

* '  Rough  day,  sir, "  observed  one.     * '  Do  you  go  far  ?  " 

"Yes,  it's  a  —  rather  a  rough  day,"  said  the  artist; 
and  then,  feeling  that  he  must  change  the  conversation, 
"my  friend  is  an  Australian,  he  is  very  impulsive,"  he 
added. 

"An  Australian?"  said  another.  "I've  a  brother 
107 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

myself  in  Melbourne.     Does  your  friend  come  from  that 
way  at  all  ?  " 

''No,  not  exactly,"  replied  the  artist,  whose  ideas  of 
the  geography  of  New  Holland  were  a  little  scattered. 
**  He  lives  immensely  far  inland,  and  is  very  rich.'* 

The  loafers  gazed  with  great  respect  upon  the  slum- 
bering colonist. 

"  Well,"  remarked  the  second  speaker,  "  it's  a  mighty 
big  place,  is  Australia.  Do  you  come  from  there  away 
too?" 

"  No,  I  do  not,"  said  Pitman.  "  I  do  not,  and  I  don't 
want  to,"  he  added,  irritably.  And  then  feeling  some 
diversion  needful,  he  fell  upon  Michael  and  shook  him  up. 

"  Hullo,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  what's  wrong  ? " 

** The  cart  is  nearly  ready,"  said  Pitman,  sternly.  "  I 
will  not  allow  you  to  sleep." 

"All  right  —  no  offence,  old  man,"  replied  Michael, 
yawning.  ' '  A  little  sleep  never  did  anybody  any  harm ; 
I  feel  comparatively  sober  now.  But  what's  all  the 
hurry?"  he  added,  looking  round  him  glassily.  "I 
don't  see  the  cart,  and  I've  forgotten  where  we  left  the 
piano." 

What  more  the  lawyer  might  have  said,  in  the  confi- 
dence of  the  moment,  is  with  Pitman  a  matter  of  tremu- 
lous conjecture  to  this  day;  but  by  the  most  blessed 
circumstance,  the  cart  was  then  announced,  and  Michael 
must  bend  the  forces  of  his  mind  to  the  more  difficult 
task  of  rising. 

"Of  course,  you'll  drive,"  he  remarked  to  his  com- 
panion, as  he  clambered  on  the  vehicle. 

"  I  drive! "  cried  Pitman.  "  I  never  did  such  a  thing 
in  my  life.     I  cannot  drive." 

108 


IN  WHICH   MICHAEL  FINSBURY  ENJOYS  A  HOLIDAY 

*' Very  well,"  responded  Michael,  with  entire  compo- 
sure, "  neither  can  I  see.  But  just  as  you  like.  Anything 
to  oblige  a  friend." 

A  glimpse  of  the  ostler's  darkening  countenance  de- 
cided Pitman.  **A11  right,"  he  said,  desperately,  **you 
drive.    I'll  tell  you  where  to  go." 

On  Michael  in  the  character  of  charioteer  (since  this  is 
not  intended  to  be  a  novel  of  adventure)  it  would  be 
superfluous  to  dwell  at  length.  Pitman,  as  he  sat  hold- 
ing on  and  gasping  counsels,  sole  witness  of  this  singu- 
lar feat,  knew  not  whether  most  to  admire  the  driver's 
valour  or  his  undeserved  good  fortune.  But  the  latter  at 
least  prevailed,  the  cart  reached  Cannon  Street  without 
disaster;  and  Mr.  Brown's  piano  was  speedily  and  clev- 
erly got  on  board. 

**Well,  sir,"  said  the  leading  porter,  smiling  as  he 
mentally  reckoned  up  a  handful  of  loose  silver,  ''that's 
a  mortal  heavy  piano." 

"  It's  the  richness  of  the  tone,"  returned  Michael,  as 
he  drove  away. 

It  was  but  a  little  distance  in  the  rain,  which  now  fell 
thick  and  quiet,  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Mr.  Gideon 
Forsyth's  chambers  in  the  Temple.  There,  in  a  deserted 
by-street,  Michael  drew  up  the  horses  and  gave  them  in 
charge  to  a  blighted  shoe-black;  and  the  pair  descending 
from  the  cart,  whereon  they  had  figured  so  incongru- 
ously, set  forth  on  foot  for  the  decisive  scene  of  their 
adventure.  For  the  first  time,  Michael  displayed  a 
shadow  of  uneasiness. 

"  Are  my  whiskers  right  ?  "  he  asked.  **  It  would  be 
the  devil  and  all  if  I  was  spotted." 

**They  are  perfectly  in  their  place,"  returned  Pitman, 
109 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

with  scant  attention.  "But  is  my  disguise  equally  ef- 
fective ?  There  is  nothing  more  likely  than  that  I  should 
meet  some  of  my  patrons." 

*'0h,  nobody  could  tell  you  without  your  beard," 
said  Michael.  ''  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  remember  to 
speak  slow;  you  speak  through  your  nose  already." 

"\  only  hope  the  young  man  won't  be  at  home," 
sighed  Pitman. 

**  And  I  only  hope  he'll  be  alone,"  returned  the  law- 
yer.    "  It  will  save  a  precious  sight  of  manoeuvring." 

And  sure  enough,  when  they  had  knocked  at  the  door, 
Gideon  admitted  them  in  person  to  a  room,  warmed  by 
a  moderate  fire,  framed  nearly  to  the  roof  in  works  con- 
nected with  the  bench  of  British  Themis,  and  offering, 
except  in  one  particular,  eloquent  testimony  to  the  legal 
zeal  of  the  proprietor.  The  one  particular  was  the 
chimney-piece,  which  displayed  a  varied  assortment  of 
pipes,  tobacco,  cigar-boxes,  and  yellow-backed  French 
novels. 

"  Mr.  Forsyth,  I  believe  ?"  It  was  Michael  who  thus 
opened  the  engagement.  ''We  have  come  to  trouble 
you  with  a  piece  of  business.  I  fear  it's  scarcely  pro- 
fessional  " 

"I  am  afraid  I  ought  to  be  instructed  through  a  so- 
licitor," replied  Gideon. 

"  Well,  well,  you  shall  name  your  own,  and  the  whole 
affair  can  be  put  on  a  more  regular  footing  to-morrow," 
replied  Michael,  taking  a  chair  and  motioning  Pitman  to 
do  the  same.  ' '  But  you  see  we  didn't  know  any  solicit- 
ors; we  did  happen  to  know  of  you,  and  time  presses." 

"May  I  inquire,  gentlemen,"  asked  Gideon,  "to 
whom  it  was  I  am  indebted  for  a  recommendation  ?  " 


IN   WHICH    MICHAEL   FINSBURY   ENJOYS   A   HOLIDAY 

"  You  may  inquire,"  returned  the  lawyer,  with  a  fool- 
ish laugh;  "but  I  was  invited  not  to  tell  you  —  till  the 
thing  was  done." 

"  My  uncle,  no  doubt,"  was  the  barrister's  conclusion. 

"  My  name  is  John  Dickson,"  continued  Michael;  "a 
pretty  well-known  name  in  Ballarat;  and  my  friend 
here  is  Mr.  Ezra  Thomas,  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  a  wealthy  manufacturer  of  India-rubber  over- 
shoes." 

"Stop  one  moment  till  I  make  a  note  of  that,"  said 
Gideon;  anyone  might  have  supposed  he  was  an  old 
practitioner. 

"  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind  my  smoking  a  cigar  ?  " 
asked  Michael.  He  had  pulled  himself  together  for  the 
entrance;  now  again  there  began  to  settle  on  his  mind 
clouds  of  irresponsible  humour  and  incipient  slumber; 
and  he  hoped  (as  so  many  have  hoped  in  the  like  case) 
that  a  cigar  would  clear  him. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  cried  Gideon,  blandly.  "Try  one 
of  mine;  I  can  confidently  recommend  them."  And  he 
handed  the  box  to  his  client. 

"In  case  I  don't  make  myself  perfectly  clear, "ob- 
served the  Australian,  "it's  perhaps  best  to  tell  you 
candidly  that  I've  been  lunching.  It's  a  thing  that  may 
happen  to  anyone." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  replied  the  affable  barrister.  "  But 
please  be  under  no  sense  of  hurry.  I  can  give  you,"  he 
added,  thoughtfully  consulting  his  watch —  "yes,  lean 
give  you  the  whole  afternoon." 

"The  business  that  brings  me  here,"  resumed  the 
Australian  with  gusto,  "is  devilish  delicate,  I  can  tell 
you.     My  friend  Mr.  Thomas,  being  an  American  of 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

Portuguese  extraction,  unacquainted  with  our  habits, 
and  a  wealthy  manufacturer  of  Broad  wood  pianos " 

*'  Broad  wood  pianos  ?  "  cried  Gideon,  with  some  sur- 
prise. "  Dear  me,  do  I  understand  Mr.  Thomas  to  be  a 
member  of  the  firm  ?  " 

'*  Oh,  pirated  Broad  woods,"  returned  Michael.  **  My 
friend's  the  American  Broadwood." 

*'  But  I  understood  you  to  say,"  objected  Gideon,  *'I 
certainly  have  it  so  in  my  notes  —  that  your  friend  was 
a  manufacturer  of  India-rubber  overshoes." 

**i  know  it's  confusing  at  first,"  said  the  Australian, 
with  a  beaming  smile.  '*Buthe  —  in  short,  he  com- 
bines the  two  professions.  And  many  others  besides  — 
many,  many,  many  others,"  repeated  Mr.  Dickson, 
with  drunken  solemnity.  **Mr.  Thomas'  cotton-mills 
are  one  of  the  sights  of  Tallahassee ;  Mr.  Thomas*  to- 
bacco-mills are  the  pride  of  Richmond,  Va. ;  in  short, 
he's  one  of  my  oldest  friends,  Mr.  Forsyth,  and  I  lay  his 
case  before  you  with  emotion." 

The  barrister  looked  at  Mr.  Thomas  and  was  agree- 
ably prepossessed  by  his  open  although  nervous  counte- 
nance, and  the  simplicity  and  timidity  of  his  manner. 
**What  a  people  are  these  Americans!"  he  thought. 
**  Look  at  this  nervous,  weedy,  simple  little  bird  in  a 
low-necked  shirt,  and  think  of  him  wielding  and  direct- 
ing interests  so  extended  and  seemingly  incongruous! 
But  had  we  not  better,"  he  observed  aloud,  "  had  we 
not  perhaps  better  approach  the  facts  ?" 

'*  Man  of  business,  I  perceive,  sir! "  said  the  Australian. 
**  Let's  approach  the  facts.  It's  a  breach  of  promise  case." 

The  unhappy  artist  was  so  unprepared  for  this  view  of 
his  position  that  he  could  scarce  suppress  a  cry. 


IN   WHICH   MICHAEL   FINSBURY   ENJOYS  A   HOLIDAY 

'*Dear  me,"  said  Gideon,  "they  are  apt  to  be  very 
troublesome.  Tell  me  everything  about  it,"  he  added, 
kindly;  'Mf  you  require  my  assistance,  conceal  noth- 
ing." 

""You  tell  him,"  said  Michael,  feeling,  apparently,  that 
he  had  done  his  share.  ''My  friend  will  tell  you  all 
about  it,"  he  added  to  Gideon,  with  a  yawn.  "  Excuse 
my  closing  my  eyes  a  moment;  I've  been  sitting  up 
with  a  sick  friend." 

Pitman  gazed  blankly  about  the  room ;  rage  and  de- 
spair seethed  in  his  innocent  spirit;  thoughts  of  flight, 
thoughts  even  of  suicide,  came  and  went  before  him ; 
and  still  the  barrister  patiently  waited,  and  still  the  artist 
groped  in  vain  for  any  form  of  words,  however  insig- 
nificant. 

"  It's  a  breach  of  promise  case,"  he  said  at  last,  in  a 
low  voice.  "I  —  1  am  threatened  with  a  breach  of 
promise  case."  Here,  in  desperate  quest  of  inspiration, 
he  made  a  clutch  at  his  beard;  his  fingers  closed  upon 
the  unfamiliar  smoothness  of  a  shaven  chin ;  and  with 
that,  hope  and  courage  (if  such  expressions  could  ever 
have  been  appropriate  in  the  case  of  Pitman)  conjointly 
fled.  He  shook  Michael  roughly.  "Wake  up!"  he 
cried,  with  genuine  irritation  in  his  tones.  "I  cannot 
do  it,  and  you  know  I  can't." 

"You  must  excuse  my  friend,"  said  Michael;  "he's 
no  hand  as  a  narrator  of  stirring  incident.  The  case  is 
simple, "  he  went  on.  ' '  My  friend  is  a  man  of  very  strong 
passions,  and  accustomed  to  a  simple,  patriarchal  style 
of  life.  You  see  the  thing  from  here :  unfortunate  visit 
to  Europe,  followed  by  unfortunate  acquaintance  with 
sham  foreign  count,  who  has  a  lovely  daughter.     Mr. 

113 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

Thomas  was  quite  carried  away ;  he  proposed,  he  was 
accepted,  and  he  wrote  —  wrote  in  a  style  which  I  am 
sure  he  must  regret  to-day.  If  these  letters  are  produced 
in  court,  sir,  Mr.  Thomas's  character  is  gone." 

''Am  I  to  understand  —  "  began  Gideon. 

*'  My  dear  sir,"  said  the  Australian,  emphatically,  "  it 
isn't  possible  to  understand  unless  you  saw  them." 

''That  is  a  painful  circumstance,"  said  Gideon;  he 
glanced  pityingly  in  the  direction  of  the  culprit,  and  ob- 
serving on  his  countenance  every  mark  of  confusion, 
pityingly  withdrew  his  eyes. 

"And  that  would  be  nothing,"  continued  Mr.  Dick- 
son, sternly,  "  but  I  wish  —  I  wish  from  my  heart,  sir,  I 
could  say  that  Mr.  Thomas'  hands  were  clean.  He 
has  no  excuse;  for  he  was  engaged  at  the  time  —  and  is 
still  engaged  —  to  the  belle  of  Constantinople,  Ga.  My 
friend's  conduct  was  unworthy  of  the  brutes  that  perish. " 

"Ga?"  repeated  Gideon,  inquiringly. 

"A  contraction  in  current  use,"  said  Michael.  "Ga 
for  Georgia,  in  the  same  way  as  Co  for  Company." 

"  I  was  aware  it  was  sometimes  so  written,"  returned 
the  barrister,  "  but  not  that  it  was  so  pronounced." 

"Fact,  I  assure  you,"  said  Michael.  "  You  now  see 
for  yourself,  sir,  that  if  this  unhappy  person  is  to  be 
saved,  some  devilish  sharp  practice  will  be  needed. 
There's  money,  and  no  desire  to  spare  it.  Mr.  Thomas 
could  write  a  cheque  to-morrow  for  a  hundred  thou- 
sand. And,  Mr.  Forsyth,  there's  better  than  money.  The 
foreign  count — Count  Tarnow,  he  calls  himself — was 
formerly  a  tobacconist  in  Bayswater,  and  passed  under 
thehumble  but  expressive  name  ofSchmidt;  his  daughter 
—  if  she  is  his  daughter — there's  another  point  —  make  a 

114 


IN  WHICH   MICHAEL   FINSBURY  ENJOYS   A   HOLIDAY 

note  of  that,  Mr.  Forsyth  —  his  daughter  at  that  time 
actually  served  in  the  shop  —  and  she  now  proposes  to 
marry  a  man  of  the  eminence  of  Mr.  Thomas !  Now  do 
you  see  our  game  ?  We  know  they  contemplate  a 
move;  and  we  wish  to  forestall  'em.  Down  you  goto 
Hampton  Court,  where  they  live,  and  threaten,  or  bribe, 
or  both,  until  you  get  the  letters ;  if  you  can't,  God  help 
us,  we  must  go  to  court  and  Thomas  must  be  exposed. 
I'll  be  done  with  him  for  one,"  added  the  unchivalrous 
friend. 

''There  seem  some  elements  of  success,"  said  Gideon. 
''Was  Schmidt  at  all  known  to  the  police?" 

"We  hope  so,"  said  Michael.  "We  have  every 
ground  to  think  so.  Mark  the  neighbourhood  —  Bays- 
water!  doesn't  Bayswater  occur  to  you  as  very  sugges- 
tive?" 

For  perhaps  the  sixth  time  during  this  remarkable 
interview,  Gideon  wondered  if  he  were  not  becoming 
light-headed.  "  I  suppose  it's  just  because  he  has  been 
lunching,"  he  thought;  and  then  added  aloud,  "to  what 
figure  may  I  go  ?  " 

' '  Perhaps  five  thousand  would  be  enough  for  to-day, " 
said  Michael.  "  And  now,  sir,  do  not  let  me  detain  you 
any  longer;  the  afternoon  wears  on;  there  are  plenty  of 
trains  to  Hampton  Court;  and  I  needn't  try  to  describe 
to  you  the  impatience  of  my  friend.  Here  is  a  five 
pound  note  for  current  expenses;  and  here  is  the  ad- 
dress." And  Michael  began  to  write,  paused,  tore  up 
the  paper,  and  put  the  pieces  in  his  pocket.  "I  will 
dictate,"  he  said,  "my  writing  is  so  uncertain." 

Gideon  took  down  the  address,  "Count  Tarnow, 
Kurnaul  Villa,  Hampton  Court."    Then  he  wrote  some- 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

thing  else  on  a  sheet  of  paper.  *'  You  said  you  had  not 
chosen  a  solicitor,"  he  said.  "  For  a  case  of  this  sort, 
here  is  the  best  man  in  London."  And  he  handed  the 
paper  to  Michael. 

'*God  bless  me!"  ejaculated  Michael,  as  he  read  his 
own  address. 

*'0h,  I  dare  say  you  have  seen  his  name  connected 
with  some  rather  painful  cases,"  said  Gideon.  ''But  he 
is  himself  a  perfectly  honest  man  and  his  capacity  is 
recognised.  And  now,  gentlemen,  it  only  remains  for 
me  to  ask  where  I  shall  communicate  with  you." 

' '  The  Langham,  of  course, "  returned  Michael.  * '  Till 
to-night." 

' '  Till  to-night, "  replied  Gideon,  smiling.  ' '  I  suppose 
I  may  knock  you  up  at  a  late  hour  ?" 

'*  Any  hour,  any  hour,"  cried  the  vanishing  solicitor. 

**Now  there's  a  young  fellow  with  a  head  upon  his 
shoulders,"  he  said  to  Pitman,  as  soon  as  they  were  in 
the  street. 

Pitman  was  indistinctly  heard  to  murmur,  ''Perfect 
fool." 

"Not  a  bit  of  him,"  returned  Michael.  "  He  knows 
who's  the  best  solicitor  in  London,  and  it's  not  every 
man  can  say  the  same.  But,  I  say,  didn't  I  pitch  it  in 
not.?" 

Pitman  returned  no  answer. 

"Hullo!"  said  the  lawyer,  pausing,  "what's  wrong 
with  the  long-suffering  Pitman  ?  " 

"  You  had  no  right  to  speak  of  me  as  you  did,"  the 
artist  broke  out;  "your  language  was  perfectly  unjusti- 
fiable; you  have  wounded  me  deeply." 

"I  never  said  a  word  about  you,"  replied  MichaeL 

ii6 


IN  WHICH   MICHAEL  FINSBURY   ENJOYS  A   HOLIDAY 

*'I  Spoke  of  Ezra  Thomas;  and  do  please  remember  that 
there's  no  such  party." 

"It's  just  as  hard  to  bear,"  said  the  artist. 

But  by  this  time  they  had  reached  the  corner  of  the 
by-street;  and  there  was  the  faithful  shoeblack,  stand- 
ing by  the  horses'  heads  with  a  splendid  assumption  of 
dignity ;  and  there  was  the  piano,  pricking  forlorn  upon 
the  cart,  while  the  rain  beat  upon  its  unprotected  sides 
and  trickled  down  its  elegantly  varnished  legs. 

The  shoeblack  was  again  put  in  requisition  to  bring 
five  or  six  strong  fellows  from  the  neighbouring  public- 
house;  and  the  last  battle  of  the  campaign  opened.  It 
is  probable  that  Mr.  Gideon  Forsyth  had  not  yet  taken 
his  seat  in  the  train  for  Hampton  Court,  before  Michael 
opened  the  door  of  the  chambers,  and  the  grunting  por- 
ters deposited  the  Broad  wood  grand  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor. 

"And  now,"  said  the  lawyer,  after  he  had  sent  the 
men  about  their  business,  "one  more  precaution.  We 
must  leave  him  the  key  of  the  piano,  and  we  must  con- 
trive that  he  shall  find  it.  Let  me  see."  And  he  built 
a  square  tower  of  cigars  upon  the  top  of  the  instrument, 
and  dropped  the  key  into  the  middle. 

"Poor  young  man," said  the  artist,  as  they  descended 
the  stairs. 

"He  is  in  a  devil  of  a  position,"  assented  Michael, 
dryly.     "  It'll  brace  him  up." 

"And  that  reminds  me,"  observed  the  excellent  Pit- 
man, "that  I  fear  I  displayed  a  most  ungrateful  temper. 
I  had  no  right,  I  see,  to  resent  expressions,  wounding 
as  they  were,  which  were  in  no  sense  directed." 

"That's  all  right,"  cried  Michael,  getting  on  the  cart 
t»7 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

*'Not  a  word  more,  Pitman.  Very  proper  feeling  on 
your  part;  no  man  of  self-respect  can  stand  by  and  hear 
his  alia%  insulted." 

The  rain  had  now  ceased,  Michael  was  fairly  sober, 
the  body  had  been  disposed  of,  and  the  friends  were 
reconciled.  The  return  to  the  mews  was  therefore  (in 
comparison  with  previous  stages  of  the  day's  adven- 
tures) quite  a  holiday  outing;  and  when  they  had  re- 
turned the  cart  and  walked  forth  again  from  the  stable- 
yard,  unchallenged  and  even  unsuspected.  Pitman  drew 
a  deep  breath  of  joy. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  *'we  can  go  home." 

''Pitman,"  said  the  lawyer,  stopping  short,  ''your 
recklessness  fills  me  with  concern.  What!  we  have 
been  wet  through  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  and  you 
propose,  in  cold  blood,  to  go  home!  No,  sir  —  hot 
Scotch." 

And  taking  his  friend's  arm  he  led  him  sternly  toward 
the  nearest  public-house.  Nor  was  Pitman  (I  regret  to 
say)  wholly  unwilling.  Now  that  peace  was  restored 
and  the  body  gone,  a  certain  innocent  skittishness  be- 
gan to  appear  in  the  manners  of  the  artist;  and  when 
he  touched  his  steaming  glass  to  Michael's,  he  giggled 
aloud  like  a  venturesome  school-girl  at  a  picnic. 


ii8 


CHAPTER  IX 

GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION   OF   MICHAEL   FINSBURY'S   HOLIDAY 

I  KNOW  Michael  Finsbury  personally ;  my  business  — ■ 
i  know  the  awkwardness  of  having  such  a  man  for  a 
lawyer  —  still  it's  an  old  story  now,  and  there  is  such  a 
thing  as  gratitude,  and,  in  short,  my  legal  business,  al- 
though now  (I  am  thankful  to  say)  of  quite  a  placid 
character,  remains  entirely  in  Michael's  hands.  But  the 
trouble  is  I  have  no  natural  talent  for  addresses ;  I  learn 
one  for  every  man  —  that  is  friendship's  offering;  and 
the  friend  who  subsequently  changes  his  residence  is 
dead  to  me,  memory  refusing  to  pursue  him.  Thus  it 
comes  about  that,  as  I  always  write  to  Michael  at  his 
office,  I  cannot  swear  to  his  number  in  the  King's  Road. 
Of  course  (like  my  neighbours),  1  have  been  to  dinner 
there.  Of  late  years,  since  his  accession  to  wealth,  neg- 
lect of  business,  and  election  to  the  club,  these  little 
festivals  have  become  common.  He  picks  up  a  few 
fellows  in  the  smoking-room  —  all  men  of  Attic  wit  — 
myself,  for  instance,  if  he  has  the  luck  to  find  me  disen- 
gaged ;  a  string  of  hansoms  may  be  observed  (by  her 
Majesty)  bowling  gaily  through  St.  James's  Park;  and 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  party  surrounds  one  of  the 
best  appointed  boards  in  London. 

But  at  the  time  of  which  we  write  the  house  in  the 
«J9 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

King's  Road  (let  us  still  continue  to  call  it  No.  233)  was 
kept  very  quiet;  when  Michael  entertained  guests  it 
was  at  the  halls  of  Nichol  or  Verrey  that  he  would  con- 
vene them,  and  the  door  of  his  private  residence  re- 
mained closed  against  his  friends.  The  upper  storey, 
which  was  sunny,  was  set  apart  for  his  father;  the 
drawing-room  was  never  opened ;  the  dining-room  was 
the  scene  of  Michael's  life.  It  is  in  this  pleasant  apart- 
ment, sheltered  from  the  curiosity  of  King's  Road  by 
wire  blinds,  and  entirely  surrounded  by  the  lawyer's  un- 
rivalled library  of  poetry  and  criminal  trials,  that  we  fmd 
him  sitting  down  to  his  dinner  after  his  holiday  with 
Pitman.  A  spare  old  lady,  with  very  bright  eyes  and  a 
mouth  humorously  compressed,  waited  upon  the  law- 
yer's needs ;  in  every  line  of  her  countenance  she  be- 
trayed the  fact  that  she  was  an  old  retainer ;  in  every 
word  that  fell  from  her  lips  she  flaunted  the  glorious 
circumstance  of  a  Scottish  origin;  and  the  fear  with 
which  this  powerful  combination  fills  the  boldest  was 
obviously  no  stranger  to  the  bosom  of  our  friend.  The 
hot  Scotch  having  somewhat  warmed  up  the  embers 
of  the  Heidsieck,  it  was  touching  to  observe  the  mas- 
ter's eagerness  to  pull  himself  together  under  the  ser- 
vant's eye;  and  when  he  remarked:  *'I  think,  Teena, 
I'll  take  a  brandy  and  soda,"  he  spoke  like  a  man  doubt- 
ful of  his  elocution,  and  not  half  certain  of  obedience. 

"No  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Michael,"  was  the  prompt  re- 
turn.    "Clar't  and  water." 

''Well,  well,  Teena,  I  daresay  you  know  best,"  said 
the  master.    ' '  Very  fatiguing  day  at  the  office,  though.  '* 

''What  ?  "  said  the  retainer,  "ye  never  were  near  the 
office  I " 

120  • 


GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY 

*'  Oh,  yes,  I  was  though ;  I  was  repeatedly  along  Fleet 
Street,"  returned  Michael. 

* '  Pretty  pliskies  ye've  been  at  this  day ! "  cried  the 
old  lady,  with  humorous  alacrity;  and  then:  *'Take 
care  —  don't  break  my  crystal! "  she  cried,  as  the  law- 
yer came  within  an  ace  of  knocking  the  glasses  off  the 
table. 

"  And  how  is  he  keeping  ?  "  asked  Michael. 

**0h,  just  the  same,  Mr.  Michael,  just  the  way  he'll 
be  till  the  end,  worthy  man!"  was  the  reply.  **But 
ye'll  not  be  the  first  that's  asked  me  that  the  day." 

'*  No  ?  "  said  the  lawyer.     **  Who  else  ?  " 

*'Ay,  that's  a  joke,  too,"  said  Teena,  grimly.  **A 
friend  of  yours:  Mr.  Morris." 

"  Morris !  What  was  the  little  beggar  doing  here  ?  " 
inquired  Michael. 

*' Wantin'  ?  To  see  him,"  replied  the  housekeeper, 
completing  her  meaning  by  a  movement  of  the  thumb 
toward  the  upper  story.  *'  That's  by  his  way  of  it;  but 
I've  an  idee  of  my  own.  He  tried  to  bribe  me,  Mr. 
Michael.  Bribe  —  me!"  she  repeated,  with  inimitable 
scorn.     *' That's  no  kind  of  a  young  gentleman." 

**Did  he  so.?"  said  Michael.  "I  bet  he  didn't  offer 
much." 

**No  more  he  did,"  replied  Teena;  nor  could  any 
subsequent  questioning  elicit  from  her  the  sum  with 
which  the  thrifty  leather  merchant  had  attempted  to 
corrupt  her.  ''  But  I  sent  him  about  his  business,"  she 
said,  gallantly.    **  He'll  not  come  here  again  in  a  hurry." 

''He  mustn't  see  my  father,  you  know;  mind 
that!"  said  Michael.  ''I'm  not  going  to  have  any  pub- 
lic exhibition  to  a  little  beast  like  him." 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

'*No  fear  of  me  lettin'  him,"  replied  the  trusty  one. 
"But  the  joke  is  this,  Mr.  Michael  —  see,  ye're  upsettin* 
the  sauce,  that's  a  clean  table-cloth  —  the  best  of  the 
joke  is  that  he  thinks  your  father's  dead  and  you're  keep- 
in' it  dark." 

Michael  whistled.  ''  Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,"  said 
he. 

"  Exac'ly  what  I  told  him !  "  cried  the  delighted  dame. 

**  I'll  make  him  dance  for  that,"  said  Michael. 

''Couldn't  ye  get  the  law  of  him  some  way  ?"  sug- 
gested Teena,  truculently. 

"No,  1  don't  think  I  could,  and  I'm  quite  sure  I  don't 
want  to,"  replied  Michael.  "  But  I  say,  Teena,  I  really 
don't  believe  this  claret's  wholesome;  it's  not  a  sound, 
reliable  wine.  Give  us  a  brandy  and  soda,  there's  a 
good  soul."  Teena's  face  became  like  adamant.  "Well, 
then,"  said  the  lawyer,  fretfully,  "I  won't  eat  any  more 
dinner." 

"Ye  can  please  yourself  about  that,  Mr.  Michael," 
said  Teena,  and  began  composedly  to  take  away. 

"  I  do  wish  Teena  wasn't  a  faithful  servant! "  sighed 
the  lawyer,  as  he  issued  into  King's  Road. 

The  rain  had  ceased;  the  wind  still  blew,  but  only 
with  a  pleasant  freshness ;  the  town,  in  the  clear  dark- 
ness of  the  night,  glittered  with  street-lamps  and  shone 
with  glancing  rain-pools.  "Come,  this  is  better," 
thought  the  lawyer  to  himself,  and  he  walked  on  east- 
ward, lending  a  pleased  ear  to  the  wheels  and  the  mil- 
lion footfalls  of  the  city. 

Near  the  end  of  the  King's  Road  he  remembered  his 
brandy  and  soda,  and  entered  a  flaunting  public  house. 
A  good  many  persons  were  present,  a  waterman  from 


GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY 

a  cab-stand,  half  a  dozen  of  the  chronically  unemployed, 
a  gentleman  (in  one  corner)  trying  to  sell  aesthetic  pho- 
tographs out  of  a  leather  case  to  another  and  very  youth- 
ful gentleman  with  a  yellow  goatee,  and  a  pair  of  lovers 
debating  some  fine  shade,  in  the  other.  But  the  centre- 
piece and  great  attraction  was  a  little  old  man,  in  a  black, 
ready-made  surtout,  which  was  obviously  a  recent  pur- 
chase. On  the  marble  table  in  front  of  him,  beside  a 
sandwich  and  a  glass  of  beer,  there  lay  a  battered  for- 
age cap.  His  hand  fluttered  abroad  with  oratorical  ges- 
tures; his  voice,  naturally  shrill,  was  plainly  tuned  to 
the  pitch  of  the  lecture-room ;  and  by  arts,  comparable 
to  those  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  he  was  now  holding 
spellbound  the  barmaid,  the  waterman,  and  four  of  the 
unemployed. 

''I  have  examined  all  the  theatres  in  London,"  he  was 
saying;  **and  pacing  the  principal  entrances,  I  have  as- 
certained them  to  be  ridiculously  disproportionate  to  the 
requirements  of  their  audiences.  The  doors  opened  the 
wrong  way  —  I  forget  at  this  moment  which  it  is,  but 
have  a  note  of  it  at  home;  they  were  frequently  locked 
during  the  performance,  and  when  the  auditorium  was 
literally  thronged  with  English  people.  You  have  prob- 
ably not  had  my  opportunities  of  comparing  distant 
lands;  but  I  can  assure  you  this  has  been  long  ago  rec- 
ognised as  a  mark  of  aristocratic  government.  Do  you 
suppose,  in  a  country  really  self-governed,  such  abuses 
could  exist  ?  Your  own  intelligence,  however  unculti- 
vated, tells  you  they  could  not.  Take  Austria,  a  country 
even  possibly  more  enslaved  than  England.  I  have  my- 
self conversed  with  one  of  the  survivors  of  the  Ring 
Theatre,  and  though  his  colloquial  German  was  not  very 

123 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

good,  I  succeeded  in  gathering  a  pretty  clear  idea  of  his 
opinion  of  the  case.  But  what  will  perhaps  interest  you 
still  more,  here  is  a  cutting  on  the  subject  from  a  Vienna 
newspaper,  which  I  will  now  read  to  you,  translating  as 
I  go.  You  can  see  for  yourselves;  it  is  printed  in  the 
German  character."  And  he  held  the  cutting  out  for 
verification,  much  as  a  conjurer  passes  a  trick  orange 
along  the  front  bench. 

"Hullo,  old  gentleman!  is  this  you.?"  said  Michael, 
laying  his  hand  upon  the  orator's  shoulder. 

The  figure  turned  with  a  convulsion  of  alarm,  and 
showed  the  countenance  of  Mr.  Joseph  Finsbury. 

**You,  Michael!"  he  cried.  '* There's  no  one  with 
you,  is  there.?" 

"No,"  replied  Michael,  ordering  a  brandy  and  soda, 
"there's  nobody  with  me;  whom  do  you  expect.?" 

"I  thought  of  Morris  or  John,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man, evidently  greatly  relieved. 

"What  the  devil  would  I  be  doing  with  Morris  or 
John  .?  "  cried  the  nephew. 

"There  is  somethingin  that,"  returned  Joseph.  "And 
I  believe  I  can  trust  you.  I  believe  you  will  stand  by 
me. 

"I  hardly  know  what  you  mean,"  said  the  lawyer, 
"but  if  you  are  in  need  of  money  I  am  flush." 

"  It's  not  that,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  uncle,  shaking 
him  by  the  hand.     "I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  afterward." 

"All  right,"  responded  the  nephew.  "  I  stand  treat. 
Uncle  Joseph ;  what  will  you  have  ?  " 

"In  that  case,"  replied  the  old  gentleman,  "I'll  take 
another  sandwich.  I  dare  say  I  surprise  you,"  he  went 
on,  "with  my  presence  in  a  public-house;  but  the  fact 

124 


GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY 

is  I  act  on  a  sound  but  little  known  principle  of  my 
own " 

'*0h,  it's  better  known  than  you  suppose,"  said  Mi- 
chael, sipping  his  brandy  and  soda.  "  I  always  act  on 
it  myself  when  I  want  a  drink." 

The  old  gentleman,  who  was  anxious  to  propitiate 
Michael,  laughed  a  cheerless  laugh.  "  You  have  such  a 
flow  of  spirits,"  said  he,  *'I  am  sure  I  often  find  it  quite 
amusing.  But  regarding  this  principle  of  which  I  was 
about  to  speak.  It  is  that  of  accommodating  one's  self 
to  the  manners  of  any  land  (however  humble)  in  which 
our  lot  may  be  cast.  Now,  in  France,  for  instance, 
everyone  goes  to  a  cafe  for  his  meals;  in  America  to 
what  is  called  a  '  two-bit  house ' ;  in  England  the  peo- 
ple resort  to  such  an  institution  as  the  present  for  re- 
freshment. With  sandwiches,  tea,  and  an  occasional 
glass  of  bitter  beer,  a  man  can  live  luxuriously  in  Lon- 
don for  fourteen  pounds  twelve  shillings  per  annum." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  returned  Michael,  "but  that's  not 
including  clothes,  washing,  or  boots.  The  whole  thing, 
with  cigars  and  occasional  sprees,  costs  me  over  seven 
hundred  a  year." 

But  this  was  Michael's  last  interruption.  He  listened 
in  good-humoured  silence  to  the  remainder  of  his  uncle's 
lecture,  which  speedily  branched  to  political  reform, 
thence  to  the  theory  of  the  weather-glass,  with  an  illus- 
trative account  of  a  bora  in  the  Adriatic ;  thence  again 
to  the  best  manner  of  teaching  arithmetic  to  the  deaf- 
and-dumb;  and  with  that,  the  sandwich  being  then  no 
more,  explicuit  valde  feliciter.  A  moment  later  the  pair 
issued  forth  on  the  King's  Road. 

"  Michael,"  said  his  uncle,  "  the  reason  that  I  am  here 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

is  because  I  cannot  endure  those  nephews  of  mine.  I 
find  them  intolerable." 

**I  dare  say  you  do/*  assented  Michael,  'M  never 
could  stand  them  for  a  moment." 

''They  wouldn't  let  me  speak,"  continued  the  old 
gentleman,  bitterly;  **I  never  was  allowed  to  get  a 
word  in  edgewise;  I  was  shut  up  at  once  with  some 
impertinent  remark.  They  kept  me  on  short  allowance 
of  pencils,  when  I  wished  to  make  notes  of  the  most 
absorbing  interest;  the  daily  newspaper  was  guarded 
from  me  like  a  young  baby  from  a  gorilla.  Now,  you 
know  me,  Michael.  I  live  for  my  calculations;  I  live 
for  my  manifold  and  ever-changing  views  of  life ;  pens 
and  paper  and  the  productions  of  the  popular  press  are 
to  me  as  important  as  food  and  drink;  and  my  life  was 
growing  quite  intolerable  when,  in  the  confusion  of 
that  fortunate  railway  accident  at  Browndean,  I  made 
my  escape.  They  must  think  me  dead,  and  are  trying 
to  deceive  the  world  for  the  chance  of  the  tontine." 

"By  the  way,  how  do  you  stand  for  money  ?"  asked 
Michael,  kindly. 

''Pecuniarily  speaking,  I  am  rich,"  returned  the  old 
man,  with  cheerfulness.  "  I  am  living  at  present  at  the 
rate  of  one  hundred  a  year,  with  unlimited  pens  and 
paper;  the  British  Museum  at  which  to  get  books;  and 
all  the  newspapers  I  choose  to  read.  But  it's  extraor- 
dinary how  little  a  man  of  intellectual  interest  requires  to 
bother  with  books  in  a  progressive  age.  The  news- 
papers supply  all  the  conclusions." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Michael,  "come  and  stay 
with  me." 

"Michael,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "it's  very  kind 
126 


GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY 

of  you,  but  you  scarcely  understand  what  a  peculiar 
position  I  occupy.  There  are  some  little  financial  com- 
plications ;  as  a  guardian  my  efforts  were  not  altogether 
blessed;  and  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  upon  the  mat- 
ter, I  am  absolutely  in  the  power  of  that  vile  fellow, 
Morris." 

"You  should  be  disguised,"  cried  Michael,  eagerly. 
*'I  will  lend  you  a  pair  of  window-glass  spectacles,  and 
some  red  side-whiskers." 

''I  had  already  canvassed  that  idea,"  replied  the 
old  gentleman,  **but  feared  to  awaken  remark  in  my 
unpretentious  lodgings.  The  aristocracy,  I  am  well 
aware " 

"But  see  here,"  interrupted  Michael,  "how  do  you 
come  to  have  any  money  at  all  ?  Don't  make  a  stranger 
of  me.  Uncle  Joseph ;  I  know  all  about  the  trust,  and 
the  hash  you  made  of  it,  and  the  assignment  you  were 
forced  to  make  to  Morris." 

Joseph  narrated  his  dealings  with  the  bank. 

"Oh,  but  I  say,  this  won't  do,"  cried  the  lawyer. 
"You've  put  your  foot  in  it.  You  had  no  right  to  do 
what  you  did." 

"The  whole  thing  is  mine,  Michael,"  protested  the 
old  gentleman.  "I  founded  and  nursed  that  business 
on  principles  entirely  of  my  own." 

"That's  all  very  fine,"  said  the  lawyer;  "but  you 
made  an  assignment,  you  were  forced  to  make  it,  too; 
even  then  your  position  was  extremely  shaky ;  but  now, 
my  dear  sir,  it  means  the  dock." 

"  It  isn't  possible,"  cried  Joseph ;  "the  law  cannot  be 
so  unjust  as  that?" 

"And  the  cream  of  the  thing,"  interrupted  Michael, 
127 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

with  a  sudden  shout  of  laughter,  **the  cream  of  the 
thing  is  this,  that  of  course  you've  downed  the  leather 
business!  I  must  say.  Uncle  Joseph,  you  have  strange 
ideas  of  law,  but  I  like  your  taste  in  humour." 

*'  I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at,"  observed  Mr.  Finsbury, 
tartly. 

"And  talking  of  that,  has  Morris  any  power  to  sign 
for  the  firm  ?  "  asked  Michael. 

*'No  one  but  myself,"  replied  Joseph. 

' '  Poor  devil  of  a  Morris.  Oh,  poor  devil  of  a  Morris ! " 
cried  the  lawyer  in  delight.  "And  his  keeping  up  the 
farce  that  you're  at  home!  Oh,  Morris,  the  Lord  has 
delivered  you  into  my  hands!  Let  me  see.  Uncle 
Joseph,  what  do  you  suppose  the  leather  business 
worth  ?  " 

"It  was  worth  a  hundred  thousand,"  said  Joseph, 
bitterly,  "when  it  was  in  my  hands.  But  then  there 
came  a  Scotchman  —  it  is  supposed  he  had  a  certain 
talent  —  it  was  entirely  directed  to  book-keeping  —  no 
accountant  in  London  could  understand  a  word  of  any 
of  his  books ;  and  then  there  Was  Morris,  who  is  per- 
fectly incompetent.  And  now  it  is  worth  very  little. 
Morris  tried  to  sell  it  last  year;  and  Pogram  &  Jarris 
offered  only  four  thousand." 

"I  shall  turn  my  attention  to  leather,"  said  Michael 
with  decision. 

"  You  ?  "  asked  Joseph.  **  I  advise  you  not.  There 
is  nothing  in  the  whole  field  of  commerce  more  surpris- 
ing than  the  fluctuations  of  the  leather  market.  Its  sen- 
sitiveness may  be  described  as  morbid." 

"And  now.  Uncle  Joseph,  what  have  you  done  with 
all  that  money  ?  "  asked  the  lawyer. 

128 


GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY 

**  Paid  it  into  a  bank  and  drew  twenty  pounds,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Finsbury  promptly.     "Why  ?" 

"Very  well,"  said  Michael.  "To-morrow  I  shall 
send  down  a  clerk  with  a  cheque  for  a  hundred,  and  he'll 
draw  out  the  original  sum  and  return  it  to  the  Anglo- 
Patagonian,  with  some  sort  of  explanation  which  I  will 
try  to  invent  for  you.  That  will  clear  your  feet,  and  as 
Morris  can't  touch  a  penny  of  it  without  forgery,  it  will 
do  no  harm  to  my  little  scheme." 

"But  what  am  I  to  do?"  asked  Joseph,  "I  cannot 
live  upon  nothing." 

"Don't  you  hear  ? "  returned  Michael.  " I  send  you 
a  cheque  for  a  hundred ;  which  leaves  you  eighty  to  go 
along  upon;  and  when  that's  done,  apply  to  me  again." 

"I  would  rather  not  be  beholden  to  your  bounty  all 
the  same,"  said  Joseph,  biting  at  his  white  moustache. 
"  I  would  rather  live  on  my  own  money,  since  I  have  it. " 

Michael  grasped  his  arm.  "Will  nothing  make  you 
believe,"  he  cried,  "that  I  am  trying  to  save  you  from 
Dartmoor  ?  " 

His  earnestness  staggered  the  old  man.  "I  must 
turn  my  attention  to  law,"  he  said;  "it  will  be  a  new 
field ;  for  though  of  course  I  understand  its  general  prin- 
ciples, I  have  never  really  applied  my  mind  to  the  details, 
and  this  view  of  yours,  for  example,  comes  on  me  en- 
tirely by  surprise.  But  you  may  be  right,  and  of  course 
at  my  time  of  life  —  for  I  am  no  longer  young  —  any 
really  long  term  of  imprisonment  would  be  highly  preju- 
dicial. But,  my  dear  nephew,  I  have  no  claim  on  you; 
you  have  no  call  to  support  me." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Michael;  "  I'll  probably  get  it 
out  of  the  leather  business." 

129 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

And  having  taken  down  the  old  gentleman's  address, 
Michael  left  him  at  the  corner  of  a  street. 

**  What  a  wonderful  old  muddler!  "  he  reflected, ''  and 
what  a  singular  thing  is  life !  I  seem  to  be  condemned 
to  be  the  instrument  of  Providence.  Let  me  see;  what 
have  I  done  to-day  }  Disposed  of  a  dead  body,  saved 
Pitman,  saved  my  Uncle  Joseph,  brightened  up  Forsyth, 
and  drunk  a  devil  of  a  lot  of  most  indifferent  liquor. 
Let's  top  off  with  a  visit  to  my  cousins,  and  be  the  in- 
strument of  Providence  in  earnest.  To-morrow  I  can 
turn  my  attention  to  leather;  to-night,  I'll  just  make  it 
lively  for  'em  in  a  friendly  spirit." 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  as  the  clocks  were 
striking  eleven,  the  instrument  of  Providence  descended 
from  a  hansom,  and  bidding  the  driver  wait,  rapped  at 
the  door  of  No.  i6  John  Street. 

It  was  promptly  opened  by  Morris. 

''Oh,  it's  you,  Michael,"  he  said,  carefully  blocking  up 
the  narrow  opening:  "it's  very  late." 

Michael  without  a  word  reached  forth,  grasped  Morris 
warmly  by  the  hand,  and  gave  it  so  extreme  a  squeeze 
that  the  sullen  householder  fell  back.  Profiting  by  this 
movement,  the  lawyer  obtained  a  footing  in  the  lobby 
and  marched  into  the  dining-room,  with  Morris  at  his 
heels. 

"Where's  my  Uncle  Joseph.?"  demanded  Michael, 
sitting  down  in  the  most  comfortable  chair. 

"He's  not  been  very  well  lately,"  replied  Morris; 
"he's  staying  at  Browndean;  John  is  nursing  him;  and 
\  am  alone,  as  you  see." 

Michael  smiled  to  himself.  "I  want  to  see  him  on 
particular  business,"  he  said. 

130 


GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY 

"  You  can't  expect  to  see  my  uncle,  when  you  won't 
let  me  see  your  father,"  returned  Morris. 

"Fiddlestick,"  said  Michael.  "My  father  is  my 
father;  but  Joseph  is  just  as  much  my  uncle  as  he's 
yours;  and  you  have  no  right  to  sequestrate  his  person." 

"I  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Morris,  doggedly.  "He 
is  not  well ;  he  is  dangerously  ill  and  nobody  can  see 
him." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  then,"  said  Michael.  "  I'll  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it.  I  have  come  down  like  the  opos- 
sum, Morris;  I  have  come  to  compromise." 

Poor  Morris  turned  as  pale  as  death,  and  then  a  flush 
of  wrath  against  the  injustice  of  man's  destiny  dyed  his 
very  temples.  "What  do  you  mean.^"  he  cried.  "I 
don't  believe  a  word  of  it!"  And  when  Michael  had 
assured  him  of  his  seriousness,  "Well,  then,"  he  cried, 
with  another  deep  flush,  "  I  won't;  so  you  can  put  that 
in  your  pipe  and  smoke  it." 

* '  Oho !  "  said  Michael,  queerly.  ' '  You  say  your  uncle 
is  dangerously  ill,  and  you  won't  compromise  ?  There's 
something  very  fishy  about  that. " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  cried  Morris,  hoarsely. 

"I  only  say  it's  fishy,"  returned  Michael,  "that  is, 
pertaining  to  the  finny  tribe." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  insinuate  anything  ?  "  cried  Morris, 
stormily,  trying  the  high  hand. 

"Insinuate.?"  repeated  Michael.  "Oh,  don't  let's 
begin  to  use  awkward  expressions !  Let  us  drown  our 
differences  in  a  bottle,  like  two  affable  kinsmen.  Tbe 
Two  Affable  Kinsmen,  sometimes  attributed  to  Shake- 
speare," he  added. 

Morris'  mind  was  labouring  like  a  mill.  "Does  he 
131 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

suspect  ?  or  is  this  chance  and  stuff?  Should  I  soap,  or 
should  I  bully  ?  Soap, "  he  concluded.  '  *  It  gains  time. 
Well, "  said  he  aloud,  and  with  rather  a  painful  affectation 
of  heartiness,  "it's  long  since  we  have  had  an  evening 
together,  Michael ;  and  though  my  habits  (as  you  know) 
are  very  temperate,  I  may  as  well  make  an  exception. 
Excuse  me  one  moment,  till  I  fetch  a  bottle  of  whisky 
from  the  cellar." 

*'No  whisky  for  me,"  said  Michael;  "  a  little  of  the 
old  still  champagne  or  nothing." 

For  a  moment  Morris  stood  irresolute,  for  the  wine 
was  very  valuable;  the  next  he  had  quitted  the  room 
without  a  word.  His  quick  mind  had  perceived  his 
advantage;  in  thus  dunning  him  for  the  cream  of  the 
cellar,  Michael  was  playing  into  his  hand.  "  One  bot- 
tle ?  "  he  thought.  "  By  George,  I'll  give  him  two !  this 
is  no  moment  for  economy ;  and  once  the  beast  is  drunk, 
it's  strange  if  I  don't  wring  his  secret  out  of  him." 

With  two  bottles,  accordingly,  he  returned.  Glasses 
were  produced,  and  Morris  filled  them  with  hospitable 
grace. 

'*I  drink  to  you,  cousin!"  he  cried,  gayly.  ''Don't 
spare  the  wine-cup  in  my  house." 

Michael  drank  his  glass  deliberately,  standing  at  the 
table;  filled  it  again,  and  returned  to  his  chair,  carrying 
the  bottle  along  with  him. 

' '  The  spoils  of  war ! "  he  said,  apologetically.  ' '  The 
weakest  goes  to  the  wall.  Science,  Morris,  science." 
Morris  could  think  of  no  reply,  and  for  an  appreciable 
interval  silence  reigned.  But  two  glasses  of  the  still 
champagne  produced  a  rapid  change  in  Michael. 

"There's  a  want  of  vivacity  about  you,  Morris,"  he 
132 


GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY 

observed.  '*  You  may  be  deep;  but  I'll  be  hanged  if 
you're  vivacious ! " 

*'What  makes  you  think  me  deep?"  asked  Morris, 
with  an  air  of  pleased  simplicity. 

**  Because  you  won't  compromise,"  said  the  lawyer. 
**  You're  deep  dog,  Morris,  very  deep  dog,  not  t'  com- 
promise—  remarkable  deep  dog.  And  a  very  good 
glass  of  wine;  it's  the  only  respectable  feature  in  the 
Finsbury  family,  this  wine;  rarer  thing  than  a  title  — 
much  rarer.  Now,  a  man  with  glass  wine  like  this  in 
cellar,  I  wonder  why  won't  compromise?" 

"  V^€\\,you  wouldn'  compromise  before,  you  know," 
said  the  smiling  Morris.     " Turn  about  is  fair  play." 

**1  wonder  why  /wouldn'  compromise?  I  wonder 
V7\\y  you  wouldn'?"  inquired  Michael.  "1  wonder 
why  we  each  think  the  other  wouldn'  ?  'S  quite  a  re- 
marrable — remarkable  problem,"  he  added,  triumph- 
ing over  oral  obstacles,  not  without  obvious  pride. 
* '  Wonder  what  we  each  think  —  don't  you  ?  " 

*' What  do  you  suppose  to  have  been  my  reason?" 
asked  Morris,  adroitly. 

Michael  looked  at  him  and  winked.  ''Tha's  cool," 
said  he.  ''Next  thing,  you'll  ask  me  to  help  you  out 
of  the  muddle.  I  know  I'm  emissary  of  Providence, 
but  not  that  kind !  You  get  out  of  it  yourself,  like  JEso^ 
and  the  other  fellow.  Must  be  dreadful  muddle  for 
young  orphan  o'  forty;  leather  business  and  all! " 

'M  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Morris. 

*  *  Not  sure  I  know  myself, "  said  Michael.  *  *  This  is  ex- 
c'lent  vintage,  sir — exc'lent  vintage.  Nothing  against  the 
tipple.  Only  thing;  here's  a  valuable  uncle  disappeared. 
Now,  what  I  want  to  know:  where's  valuable  uncle  ?" 

>33 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

*'I  have  told  you:  he  is  at  Browndean,"  answered 
Morris,  furtively  wiping  his  brow,  for  these  repeated 
hints  began  to  tell  upon  him  cruelly. 

*'Very  easy  say  Brown  —  Browndee  —  no'  so  easy 
after  all!"  cried  Michael.  ''Easy  say;  anything's  easy 
say,  when  you  can  say  it.  What  I  don'  like's  total  dis- 
appearance of  an  uncle.  Not  business-like."  And  he 
wagged  his  head. 

''It  is  all  perfectly  simple,"  returned  Morris,  with  la- 
borious calm.  "There  is  no  mystery.  He  stays  at 
Browndean,  where  he  got  a  shake  in  the  accident." 

"Ah!"  said  Michael,  "got  devil  of  a  shake.?" 

"Why  do  you  say  that.?"  cried  Morris,  sharply. 

"  Best  possible  authority.  Told  me  so  yourself,"  said 
the  lawyer.  "But  if  you  tell  me  contrary  now,  of  course 
I'm  bound  to  believe  either  the  one  story  or  the  other. 
Point  is  —  I've  upset  this  bottle,  still  champagne's  ex- 
c'lent  thing  carpet  —  point  is,  is  valuable  uncle  dead  — 
an'— bury?" 

Morris  sprang  from  his  seat.  "What's  that  you 
say  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"I  say  it's  exc'lent  thing  carpet,"  replied  Michael, 
rising.  "Exc'lent  thing  promote  healthy  action  of  the 
skin.  Well,  it's  all  one,  anyway.  Give  my  love  to 
Uncle  Champagne." 

"You're  not  going  away  ?"  said  Morris. 

"  Awf'ly  sorry,  ole  man.  Got  to  sit  up  sick  friend," 
said  the  wavering  Michael. 

"You  shall  not  go  till  you  have  explained  your  hints," 
returned  Morris,  fiercely.  "What  do  you  mean  ?  What 
brought  you  here  ?  " 

"No  offence,  I  trust,"  said  the  lawyer,  turning  round 
134 


GLORIOUS  CONCLUSION  OF  MICHAEL  FINSBURY'S  HOLIDAY 

as  he  opened  the  door;  "  only  doing  my  duty  as  shem- 
ishery  of  Providence." 

Groping  his  way  to  the  front-door,  he  opened  it  with 
some  difficulty,  and  descended  the  steps  to  the  hansom. 
The  tired  driver  looked  up  as  he  approached,  and  asked 
where  he  was  to  go  next. 

Michael  observed  that  Morris  had  followed  him  to  the 
steps;  a  brilliant  inspiration  came  to  him.  ''Anything 
t'  give  pain,"  he  reflected.  .  .  .  ''Drive  Shcotlan' 
Yard,"  he  added  aloud,  holding  to  the  wheel  to  steady 
himself;  "  there's  something  devilish  fishy,  cabby,  about 
those  cousins.  Mush'  be  cleared  up !  Drive  Shcotlan' 
Yard." 

"You  don't  mean  that,  sir,"  said  the  man,  with  the 
ready  sympathy  of  the  lower  orders  for  an  intoxicated 
gentleman.  "  I  had  better  take  you  home,  sir;  you  can 
go  to  Scotland  Yard  to-morrow." 

"Is  it  as  friend  or  as  perfessional  man  you  advise  me 
not  to  go  Shcotlan'  Yard  t'night  ? "  inquired  Michael. 
"All  righ',  never  min'  Shcotlan'  Yard,  drive  Gaiety 
bar." 

"The  Gaiety  bar  is  closed,"  said  the  man. 

"Then home,"  said  Michael,  with  the  same  cheerful- 
ness. 

"Whereto,  sir?" 

"  I  don't  remember,  I'm  sure,"  said  Michael,  entering 
the  vehicle,  "drive  Shcotlan'  Yard  and  ask." 

"  But  you'll  have  a  card,"  said  the  man,  through  the 
little  aperture  in  the  top,  "give  me  your  card-case." 

"Whatimagi — imagination  in  a  cabby!"  cried  the 
lawyer,  producing  his  card-case,  and  handing  it  to  the 
driver. 

135 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

The  man  read  it  by  the  light  of  the  lamp.  '*  Mr.  Mi- 
chael Finsbury,  2^^  King's  Road,  Chelsea.  Is  that  it, 
sir  ?  " 

'*  Right  you  are,"  cried  Michael,  "  drive  there  if  you 
can  see  way." 


116 


CHAPTER  X 

GIDEON   FORSYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND 

The  reader  has  perhaps  read  that  remarkable  work, 
IVbo  Put  Back  the  Clock  ?  by  E.  H.  B.,  which  appeared 
for  several  days  upon  the  railway  bookstalls  and  then 
vanished  entirely  from  the  fac2  of  the  earth.  Whether 
eating  Time  makes  the  chief  of  his  diet  out  of  old  edi- 
tions; whether  Providence  has  passed  a  special  enact- 
ment on  behalf  of  authors ;  or  whether  these  last  have 
taken  the  law  into  their  own  hand,  bound  themselves 
into  a  dark  conspiracy  with  a  password,  which  I  would 
die  rather  than  reveal,  and  night  after  night  sally  forth 
under  some  vigorous  leader,  such  as  Mr.  James  Payn  or 
Mr.  Walter  Besant,  on  their  task  of  secret  spoliation — cer- 
tain it  is,  at  least,  that  the  old  editions  pass,  giving  place 
to  new.  To  the  proof,  it  is  believed  there  are  now  only 
three  copies  extant  of  JVbo  Put  Back  the  Clock  ?  one  in 
the  British  Museum,  successfully  concealed  by  a  wrong 
entry  in  the  catalogue ;  another  in  one  of  the  cellars 
(the  cellar  where  the  music  accumulates)  of  the  Advo- 
cates' Library  in  Edinburgh ;  and  a  third,  bound  in  mo- 
rocco, in  the  possession  of  Gideon  Forsyth.  To  account 
for  the  very  different  fate  attending  this  third  exemplar, 
the  readiest  theory  is  to  suppose  that  Gideon  admired 
the  tale.     How  to  explain  that  admiration  might  ap- 

»37 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

pear  (to  those  who  have  perused  the  work)  more  diffi- 
cult; but  the  weakness  of  a  parent  is  extreme,  and 
Gideon  (and  not  his  uncle,  whose  initials  he  had  humor- 
ously borrowed)  was  the  author  of  IVho  Put  Back  the 
Clock  ?  He  had  never  acknowledged  it,  or  only  to  some 
intimate  friends  while  it  was  still  in  proof ;  after  its  ap- 
pearance and  alarming  failure,  the  modesty  of  the  nov- 
elist had  become  more  pressing,  and  the  secret  was  now 
likely  to  be  better  kept  than  that  of  the  authorship  of 
IVaverley. 

A  copy  of  the  work  (for  the  date  of  my  tale  is  already 
yesterday)  still  figured  in  dusty  solitude  in  the  bookstall 
at  Waterloo;  and  Gideon,  as  he  passed  with  his  ticket 
for  Hampton  Court,  smiled  contemptuously  at  the  crea- 
ture of  his  thoughts.  What  an  idle  ambition  was  the 
author's !  How  far  beneath  him  was  the  practice  of  that 
childish  art!  With  his  hand  closing  on  his  first  brief, 
he  felt  himself  a  man  at  last;  and  the  muse  who  presides 
over  the  police  romance,  a  lady  presumably  of  French 
extraction,  fled  his  neighbourhood,  and  returned  to  join 
the  dance  round  the  springs  of  Helicon,  among  her 
Grecian  sisters. 

Robust,  practical  reflection  still  cheered  the  young 
barrister  upon  his  journey.  Again  and  again  he  se- 
lected the  little  country  house  in  its  islet  of  great  oaks, 
which  he  was  to  make  his  future  home.  Like  a  pru- 
dent householder,  he  projected  improvements  as  he 
passed;  to  one  he  added  a  stable,  to  another  a  tennis 
court,  a  third  he  supplied  with  a  becoming,  rustic  boat- 
house. 

*'How  little  a  while  ago,"  he  could  not  but  reflect, 
*'I  was  a  careless  young  dog  with  no  thought  but  to 

138 


GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND 

be  comfortable!  I  cared  for  nothing  but  boating  and 
detective  novels.  I  would  have  passed  an  old-fashioned 
country  house  with  large  kitchen-garden,  stabling,  boat- 
house,  and  spacious  offices,  without  so  much  as  a  look, 
and  certainly  would  have  made  no  inquiry  as  to  the 
drains.     How  a  man  ripens  with  the  years ! " 

The  intelligent  reader  will  perceive  the  ravages  of 
Miss  Hazeltine.  Gideon  had  carried  Julia  straight  to 
Mr.  Bloomfield's  house;  and  that  gentleman,  having 
been  led  to  understand  she  was  the  victim  of  oppression, 
had  noisily  espoused  her  cause.  He  worked  himself 
into  a  fine  breathing  heat;  in  which,  to  a  man  of  his 
temperament,  action  became  needful. 

**  I  do  not  know  which  is  the  worse,"  he  cried,  *'the 
fraudulent  old  villain  or  the  unmanly  young  cub.  I 
will  write  to  the  Pall  Matt  and  expose  them.  Nonsense, 
sir;  they  must  be  exposed!  It's  a  public  duty.  Did 
you  not  tell  me  the  fellow  was  a  tory  }  Oh,  the  uncle 
is  a  radical  lecturer,  is  he  }  No  doubt,  the  uncle  has 
been  grossly  wronged.  But  of  course,  as  you  say, 
that  makes  a  change;  it  becomes  scarce  so  much  a 
public  duty." 

And  he  sought  and  instantly  found  a  fresh  outlet  for 
his  alacrity.  Miss  Hazeltine  (he  now  perceived)  must 
be  kept  out  of  the  way ;  his  houseboat  was  lying  ready 
—  he  had  returned  but  a  day  or  two  before  from  his 
usual  cruise;  there  was  no  place  like  a  houseboat  for 
concealment;  and  that  very  morning,  in  the  teeth  of  the 
easterly  gale,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bloomfield  and  Miss  Julia 
Hazeltine  had  started  forth  on  their  untimely  voyage. 
Gideon  pled  in  vain  to  be  allowed  to  join  the  party. 
''No,  Gid,"said  his  uncle.     "You  will  be  watched; 

139 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

you  must  keep  away  from  us."  Nor  had  the  barrister 
ventured  to  contest  this  strange  illusion ;  for  he  feared 
if  he  rubbed  off  any  of  the  romance,  that  Mr.  Bloom- 
field  might  weary  of  the  whole  affair.  And  his  dis- 
cretion was  rewarded;  for  the  Squirradical,  laying  a 
heavy  hand  upon  his  nephew's  shoulder,  had  added 
these  notable  expressions:  "I  see  what  you  are  after, 
Gid.  But  if  you're  going  to  get  the  girl,  you  have  to 
work,  sir." 

These  pleasing  sounds  had  cheered  the  barrister  all 
day,  as  he  sat  reading  in  chambers;  they  continued  to 
form  the  ground-base  of  his  manly  musings  as  he  was 
whirled  to  Hampton  Court;  even  when  he  landed  at  the 
station,  and  began  to  pull  himself  together  for  his  delicate 
interview,  the  voice  of  Uncle  Ned  and  the  eyes  of  Julia 
were  not  forgotten. 

But  now  it  began  to  rain  surprises:  in  all  Hampton 
Court,  there  was  no  Kurnaul  Villa,  no  Count  Tarnow, 
and  no  count.  This  was  strange;  but  viewed  in  the 
light  of  the  incoherency  of  his  instructions,  not  perhaps 
inexplicable;  Mr.  Dickson  had  been  lunching,  and  he 
might  have  made  some  fatal  oversight  in  the  address. 
What  was  the  thoroughly  prompt,  manly,  and  busi- 
ness-like step  ?  thought  Gideon ;  and  he  answered  him- 
self at  once:  *' A  telegram,  very  laconic."  Speedily,  the 
wires  were  flashing  the  following  very  important  mis- 
sive: **  Dickson,  Langham  Hotel.  Villa  and  persons 
both  unknown  here,  suppose  erroneous  address ;  follow 
self  next  train.  Forsyth."  And  at  the  Langham  Hotel, 
sure  enough,  with  a  brow  expressive  of  despatch  and 
intellectual  effort,  Gideon  descended  not  long  after  from 
a  smoking  hansom. 

140 


GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  BROADWOOD   GRAND 

I  do  not  suppose  that  Gideon  will  ever  forget  the 
Langham  Hotel.  No  Count  Tarnow  was  one  thing;  no 
John  Dickson  and  no  Ezra  Thomas,  quite  another. 
How,  why,  and  what  next,  danced  in  his  bewildered 
brain ;  from  every  centre  of  what  we  playfully  call  the 
human  intellect,  incongruous  messages  were  tele- 
graphed; and  before  the  hubbub  of  dismay  had  quite 
subsided,  the  barrister  found  himself  driving  furiously 
for  his  chambers.  There  was  at  least  a  cave  of  refuge; 
it  was  at  least  a  place  to  think  in ;  and  he  climbed  the 
stair,  put  his  key  in  the  lock  and  opened  the  door,  with 
some  approach  to  hope. 

It  was  all  dark  within,  for  the  night  had  some  time 
fallen ;  but  Gideon  knew  his  room,  he  knew  where  the 
matches  stood  on  the  end  of  the  chimney  piece;  and  he 
advanced  boldly,  and  in  so  doing  dashed  himself  against 
a  heavy  body,  where  (slightly  altering  the  expressions  of 
the  song)  no  heavy  body  should  have  been.  There  had 
been  nothing  there  when  Gideon  went  out,  he  had  locked 
the  door  behind  him,  he  had  found  it  locked  on  his  re- 
turn, no  one  could  have  entered,  the  furniture  could  not 
have  changed  its  own  position.  And  yet  undeniably 
there  was  a  something  there.  He  thrust  out  his  hands 
in  the  darkness.  Yes,  there  was  something,  something 
large,  something  smooth,  something  cold. 

"Heaven  forgive  me!"  said  Gideon,  **it  feels  like  a 
piano." 

And  the  next  moment  he  remembered  the  vestas  in 
his  waistcoat  pocket  and  had  struck  a  light. 

It  was  indeed  a  piano  that  met  his  doubtful  gaze;  a 
vast  and  costly  instrument,  stained  with  the  rains  of  the 
afternoon  and  defaced  with  recent  scratches.    The  light 

141 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

of  the  vesta  was  reflected  from  the  varnished  sides,  like 
a  star  in  quiet  water;  and  in  the  farther  end  of  the  room, 
the  shadow  of  that  strange  visitor  loomed  bulkily  and 
wavered  on  the  wall. 

Gideon  let  the  match  burn  to  his  fingers,  and  the 
darkness  close  once  more  on  his  bewilderment.  Then 
with  trembling  hands  he  lit  the  lamp  and  drew  near. 
Near  or  far,  there  was  no  doubt  of  the  fact :  the  thing 
was  a  piano.  There,  where  by  all  the  laws  of  God 
and  man  it  was  impossible  that  it  should  be — there  the 
thing  impudently  stood.  Gideon  threw  open  the  key- 
board and  struck  a  chord.  Not  a  sound  disturbed  the 
quiet  of  the  room.  * '  Is  there  anything  wrong  with  me .?  " 
he  thought,  with  a  pang;  and  drawing  in  a  seat,  obsti- 
nately persisted  in  his  attempts  to  ravish  silence,  now 
with  sparkling  arpeggios,  now  with  a  sonata  of  Bee- 
thoven's which  (in  happier  days)  he  knew  to  be  one  of 
the  loudest  pieces  of  that  powerful  composer.  Still  not 
a  sound.  He  gave  the  Broadwood  two  great  bangs  with 
his  clenched  fists.     All  was  still  as  the  grave. 

The  young  barrister  started  to  his  feet. 

*'  I  am  stark-staring  mad,"  he  cried  aloud,  ''and  no  one 
knows  it  but  myself.  God's  worst  curse  has  fallen  on  me. " 

His  fingers  encountered  his  watch-chain ;  instantly  he 
had  plucked  forth  his  watch  and  held  it  to  his  ear.  He 
could  hear  it  ticking. 

''  I  am  not  deaf,"  he  said  aloud.  **  I  am  only  insane. 
My  mind  has  quitted  me  forever." 

He  looked  uneasily  about  the  room,  and  gazed  with 
lack-lustre  eyes  at  the  chair  in  which  Mr.  Dickson  had 
installed  himself.  The  end  of  a  cigar  lay  near  it  on  the 
fender. 

142 


GIDEON   FORSYTH   AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND 

* '  No, "  he  thought,  * '  I  don't  believe  that  was  a  dream ; 
but  God  knows  my  mind  is  failing  rapidly.  I  seem  to  be 
hungry,  for  instance;  it's  probably  another  hallucination. 
Still  I  might  try.  I  shall  have  one  more  good  meal;  I 
shall  go  to  the  Cafe  Royal,  and  may  possibly  be  removed 
from  there  direct  to  the  asylum." 

He  wondered  with  morbid  interest,  as  he  descended 
the  stairs,  how  he  would  first  betray  his  terrible  condi- 
tion—  would  he  attack  a  waiter.?  or  eat  glass.?  —  and 
when  he  had  mounted  into  a  cab,  he  bade  the  man 
drive  to  Nichol's  with  a  lurking  fear  that  there  was  no 
such  place. 

The  flaring,  gassy  entrance  of  the  cafe  speedily  set  his 
mind  at  rest;  he  was  cheered  besides  to  recognise  his 
favourite  waiter ;  his  orders  appeared  to  be  coherent;  the 
dinner,  when  it  came,  was  quite  a  sensible  meal,  and 
he  ate  it  with  enjoyment.  ''Upon  my  word,"  he  re- 
flected, *'  I  am  about  tempted  to  indulge  a  hope.  Have 
I  been  hasty  ?  Have  I  done  what  Robert  Skill  would 
have  done  ? "  Robert  Skill  (I  need  scarcely  mention) 
was  the  name  of  the  principal  character  in  IVbo  Put 
Back  the  Clock?  It  had  occurred  to  the  author  as  a 
brilliant  and  probable  invention ;  to  readers  of  a  critical 
turn,  Robert  appeared  scarce  upon  a  level  with  his  sur- 
name; but  it  is  the  difficulty  of  the  police  romance,  that 
the  reader  is  always  a  man  of  such  vastly  greater  inge- 
nuity than  the  writer.  In  the  eyes  of  his  creator,  how- 
ever, Robert  Skill  was  a  word  to  conjure  with;  the 
thought  braced  and  spurred  him;  what  that  brilliant 
creature  would  have  done,  Gideon  would  do  also.  This 
frame  of  mind  is  not  uncommon :  the  distressed  general, 
the  baited  divine,  the  hesitating  author,  decide  severally 

143 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

to  do  what  Napoleon,  what  St.  Paul,  what  Shakespeare 
would  have  done;  and  there  remains  only  the  minor 
question.  What  is  that  ?  In  Gideon's  case,  one  thing 
was  clear:  Skill  was  a  man  of  singular  decision,  he 
would  have  taken  some  step  (whatever  it  was)  at  once; 
and  the  only  step  that  Gideon  could  think  of  was  to  re- 
turn to  his  chambers. 

This  being  achieved,  all  further  inspiration  failed  him, 
and  he  stood  pitifully  staring  at  the  instrument  of  his 
confusion.  To  touch  the  keys  again  was  more  than  he 
durst  venture  on ;  whether  they  had  maintained  their 
former  silence,  or  responded  with  the  tones  of  the  last 
trump,  it  would  have  equally  dethroned  his  resolution. 
"  It  may  be  a  practical  jest,"  he  reflected,  ''though  it 
seems  elaborate  and  costly.  And  yet  what  else  can  it 
be  ?  It musthe  a  practical  jest."  And  just  then  his  eye 
fell  upon  a  feature  which  seemed  corroborative  of  that 
view ;  The  pagoda  of  cigars  which  Michael  had  erected 
ere  he  left  the  chambers.  "Why  that?"  reflected 
Gideon.  "  It  seems  entirely  irresponsible."  And  draw- 
ing near,  he  gingerly  demolished  it.  ''A  key,"  he 
thought.  ''Why  that.?  And  why  so  conspicuously 
placed  ? "  He  made  the  circuit  of  the  instrument,  and 
perceived  the  keyhole  at  the  back.  "  Aha!  this  is  what 
the  key  is  for,"  said  he.  "  They  wanted  me  to  look  in- 
side. Stranger  and  stranger."  And  with  that,  he 
turned  the  key  and  raised  the  lid. 

In  what  antics  of  agony,  in  what  fits  of  flighty  resolu- 
tion, in  what  collapses  of  despair,  Gideon  consumed 
the  night,  it  would  be  ungenerous  to  Inquire  too  closely. 

That  trill  of  tiny  song  with  which  the  eaves-birds  of 
London  welcome  the  approach  of  day,  found  him  limp 

144 


GIDEON   FORSYTH  AND  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND 

and  rumpled  and  bloodshot,  and  with  a  mind  still  va- 
cant of  resource.  He  rose  and  looked  forth  unrejoicingly 
on  blinded  windows,  an  empty  street,  and  the  grey  day- 
light dotted  with  the  yellow  lamps.  There  are  morn- 
ings when  the  city  seems  to  awake  with  a  sick  head- 
ache ;  this  was  one  of  them ;  and  still  the  twittering  re- 
veille of  the  sparrows  stirred  in  Gideon's  spirit. 

*'  Day  here,"  bethought,  "  and  I  still  helpless!  This 
must  come  to  an  end."  And  he  locked  up  the  piano, 
put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  set  forth  in  quest  of  coffee. 
As  he  went,  his  mind  trudged  for  the  hundredth  time  a 
certain  mill-road  of  terrors,  misgivings,  and  regrets.  To 
call  in  the  police,  to  give  up  the  body,  to  cover  London 
with  handbills  describing  John  Dickson  and  Ezra 
Thomas,  to  fill  the  papers  with  paragraphs.  Mysterious 
Occurrence  in  the  Temple  —  Mr.  Forsyth  admitted  to  bail, 
this  was  one  course,  an  easy  course,  a  safe  course ;  but 
not,  the  more  he  reflected  on  it,  not  a  pleasant  one. 
For,  was  it  not  to  publish  abroad  a  number  of  singular 
facts  about  himself  ?  A  child  ought  to  have  seen  through 
the  story  of  these  adventures,  and  he  had  gaped  and 
swallowed  it.  A  barrister  of  the  least  self-respect  should 
have  refused  to  listen  to  clients  who  came  before  him  in 
a  manner  so  irregular,  and  he  had  listened.  And  oh, 
if  he  had  only  listened;  but  he  had  gone  upon  their 
errand  —  he,  a  barrister,  uninstructed  even  by  the 
shadow  of  a  solicitor  —  upon  an  errand  fit  only  for  a 
private  detective;  and  alas!  —  and  for  the  hundredth 
time,  the  blood  surged  to  his  brow  —  he  had  taken  their 
money!  "No,"  said  he,  "the  thing  is  as  plain  as  St. 
Paul's.  I  shall  be  dishonoured!  I  have  smashed  my 
career  for  a  five-pound  note." 

M5 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

Between  the  possibility  of  being  hanged  in  all  inno- 
cence, and  the  certainty  of  a  public  and  merited  disgrace, 
no  gentleman  of  spirit  could  long  hesitate.  After  three 
gulps  of  that  hot,  snuffy,  and  muddy  beverage,  that 
passes  on  the  streets  of  London  for  a  decoction  of  the 
coffee  berry,  Gideon's  mind  was  made  up.  He  would 
do  without  the  police.  He  must  face  the  other  side  of 
the  dilemma,  and  be  Robert  Skill  in  earnest.  What 
would  Robert  Skill  have  done  ?  How  does  a  gentleman 
dispose  of  a  dead  body,  honestly  come  by  ?  He  remem- 
bered the  inimitable  story  of  the  hunchback ;  reviewed 
its  course,  and  dismissed  it  for  a  worthless  guide.  It 
was  impossible  to  prop  a  corpse  on  the  corner  of  Totten- 
ham Court  Road,  without  arousing  fatal  curiosity  in  the 
bosoms  of  the  passers  by ;  as  for  lowering  it  down  a 
London  chimney,  the  physical  obstacles  were  insur- 
mountable. To  get  it  on  board  a  train  and  drop  it  out, 
or  on  the  top  of  an  omnibus  and  drop  it  off,  were  equally 
out  of  the  question.  To  get  it  on  a  yacht  and  drop  it 
overboard,  was  more  conceivable;  but  for  a  man  of 
moderate  means,  it  seemed  extravagant.  The  hire  of 
the  yacht  was  in  itself  a  consideration ;  the  subsequent 
support  of  the  whole  crew  (which  seemed  a  necessary 
consequence)  was  simply  not  to  be  thought  of  His 
uncle  and  the  houseboat  here  occurred  in  very  luminous 
colours  to  his  mind.  A  musical  composer  (say,  of  the 
name  of  Jimson)  might  very  \yell  suffer,  like  Hogarth's 
musician  before  him,  from  the  disturbances  of  London. 
He  might  very  well  be  pressed  for  time  to  finish  an 
opera  —  say  the  comic  opera  Orange  Pekoe — Orange 
Pekoe,  music  by  Jimson  —  ''  this  young  maestro,  one  of 
the  most  promising  of  our  recent  English  school "  —  vig- 

146 


GIDEON    FORSYTH   AND   THE   BROADWOOD   GRAND 

orous  entrance  of  the  drums,  etc. —  the  whole  charactet 
of  Jimson  and  his  music  arose  in  bulk  before  the  mind 
of  Gideon.  What  more  likely  than  Jimson's  arrival 
with  a  grand  piano  (say,  at  Padwick),  and  his  residence 
in  a  houseboat  alone  with  the  unfinished  score  of  Orange 
Pekoe?  His  subsequent  disappearance,  leaving  noth- 
ing behind  but  an  empty  piano  case,  it  might  be  more 
difficult  to  account  for.  And  yet  even  that  was  sus- 
ceptible of  explanation.  For,  suppose  Jimson  had  gone 
mad  over  a  fugal  passage,  and  had  thereupon  destroyed 
the  accomplice  of  his  infamy,  and  plunged  into  the  wel- 
come river }  What  end,  on  the  whole,  more  probable 
for  a  modern  musician  } 

''By  jove,  I'll  do  it,"  cried  Gideon.     "Jimson  is  the 
boy!" 


S4V 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON 

Mr.  Edward  Hugh  Bloomfield  having  announced  his 
intention  to  stay  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Maidenhead, 
what  more  probable  than  that  the  Maestro  Jimson  should 
turn  his  mind  toward  Padwick  ?  Near  this  pleasant 
riverside  village,  he  remembered  to  have  observed  an 
ancient,  weedy  houseboat  lying  moored  beside  a  tuft  of 
willows.  It  had  stirred  in  him,  in  his  careless  hours,  as 
he  pulled  down  the  river  under  a  more  familiar  name,  a 
certain  sense  of  the  romantic;  and  when  the  nice  con- 
trivance of  his  story  was  already  complete  in  his  mind, 
he  had  come  near  pulling  it  all  down  again,  like  an  un- 
grateful clock,  in  order  to  introduce  a  chapter  in  which 
Robert  Skill  (who  was  always  being  decoyed  some- 
where) should  be  decoyed  on  board  that  lonely  hulk  by 
Lord  Bellew  and  the  American  desperado  Gin  Sling. 
It  was  fortunate  he  had  not  done  so,  he  reflected ;  since 
the  hulk  was  now  required  for  very  different  purposes. 

Jimson,  a  man  of  inconspicuous  costume,  but  insin- 
uatmg  manners,  had  little  difficulty  in  finding  the  hire- 
ling who  had  charge  of  the  houseboat,  and  still  less  in 
persuading  him  to  resign  his  care.  The  rent  was  almost 
nominal,  the  entry  immediate,  the  key  was  exchanged 
against  a  suitable  advance  in  money;  and  Jimson  re- 

148 


THE  MAgSTRO  JIMSON 

turned  to  town  by  the  afternoon  train  to  see  about  des- 
patching his  piano. 

"I  will  be  down  to-morrow,"  he  had  said,  reassur- 
ingly. **  My  opera  is  waited  for  with  such  impatience, 
you  know." 

And,  sure  enough,  about  the  hour  of  noon  on  the  fol- 
lowing day,  Jimson  might  have  been  observed  ascend- 
ing the  riverside  road  that  goes  from  Padwick  to  Great 
Haverham,  carrying  in  one  hand  a  basket  of  provisions, 
and  under  the  other  arm  a  leather  case  containing  (it  is 
to  be  conjectured)  the  score  of  Orange  Pekoe.  It  was 
October  weather;  the  stone-grey  sky  was  full  of  larks, 
the  leaden  mirror  of  the  Thames  brightened  with  au- 
tumnal foliage,  and  the  fallen  leaves  of  the  chestnuts 
chirped  under  the  composer's  footing.  There  is  no 
time  of  the  year  in  England  more  courageous;  and  Jim- 
son,  though  he  was  not  without  his  troubles,  whistled 
as  he  went. 

A  little  above  Padwick,  the  river  lies  very  solitary. 
On  the  opposite  shore  the  trees  of  a  private  park  inclose 
the  view,  the  chimneys  of  the  mansion  just  pricking 
forth  above  their  clusters ;  on  the  near  side,  the  path  is 
bordered  by  willows.  Close  among  these  lay  the  house- 
boat, a  thing  so  soiled  by  the  tears  of  the  overhanging 
willows,  so  grown  upon  with  parasites,  so  decayed,  so 
battered,  so  neglected,  such  a  haunt  of  rats,  so  adver- 
tised a  storehouse  of  rheumatic  agonies,  that  the  heart 
of  an  intending  occupant  might  well  recoil.  A  plank, 
by  way  of  flying  drawbridge,  joined  it  to  the  shore. 
And  it  was  a  dreary  moment  for  Jimson  when  he  pulled 
this  after  him  and  found  himself  alone  on  this  unwhole- 
some fortress.     He  could  hear  the  rats  scuttle  and  flop  in 

149 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

the  abhorred  interior;  the  key  cried  among  the  wards  like 
a  thing  in  pain ;  the  sitting-room  was  deep  in  dust,  and 
smelt  strong  of  bilge-water.  It  could  not  be  called  a 
cheerful  spot,  even  for  a  composer  absorbed  in  beloved 
toil;  how  much  less  for  a  young  gentleman,  haunted  by 
alarms  and  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  corpse ! 

He  sat  down,  cleared  away  a  piece  of  the  table,  and 
attacked  the  cold  luncheon  in  his  basket.  In  case  of 
any  subsequent  inquiry  into  the  fate  of  Jimson,  it  was 
desirable  he  should  be  little  seen;  in  other  words, 
that  he  should  spend  the  day  entirely  in  the  house;  to 
this  end,  and  further  to  corroborate  his  fable,  he  had 
brought  in  the  leather  case  not  only  writing  materials, 
but  a  ream  of  large-size  music  paper,  such  as  he  con- 
sidered suitable  for  an  ambitious  character  like  Jimson's. 

"And  now  to  work,"  said  he,  when  he  had  satisfied 
his  appetite.  "We  must  leave  traces  of  the  wretched 
man's  activity."    And  he  wrote  in  bold  characters: 

ORANGE  PEKOE 

op.  17 

J.    B.   JIMSON 

Vocal  and  p,  /.  score 

"I  suppose  they  never  do  begin  like  this,"  reflected 
Gideon;  "  but  then  it's  quite  out  of  the  question  for  me 
to  tackle  a  full  score,  and  Jimson  was  so  unconventional. 
A  dedication  would  be  found  convincing,  I  believe. 
*  Dedicated  to'  (let  me  see)  'to  William  Ewart  Gladstone, 
by  his  obedient  servant  the  composer.'  And  now  some 
music:  I  had  better  avoid  the  overture,  it  seems  to  pre- 
sent difficulties.     Let's  give  an  air  for  the  tenor:  Key  — 

150 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON 

O,  something  modern !  —  seven  sharps. "  And  he  made 
a  business-like  signature  across  the  staves,  and  then 
paused  and  browsed  for  a  while  on  the  handle  of  his 
pen.  Melody,  with  no  better  inspiration  than  a  sheet 
of  paper,  is  not  usually  found  to  spring  unbidden  in  the 
mind  of  the  amateur;  nor  is  the  key  of  seven  sharps  a 
place  of  much  repose  to  the  untried.  He  cast  away  that 
sheet.  "  It  will  help  to  build  up  the  character  of  Jim- 
son,"  Gideon  remarked;  and  again  waited  on  the  muse, 
in  various  keys  and  on  divers  sheets  of  paper,  but  all 
with  results  so  inconsiderable  that  he  stood  aghast. 
''It's  very  odd,"  thought  he.  '*I  seem  to  have  less 
fancy  than  I  thought;  or  this  is  an  off-day  with  me;  yet 
Jimson  must  leave  something. "  And  again  he  bent  him- 
self to  the  task. 

Presently  the  penetrating  chill  of  the  houseboat  began 
to  attack  the  very  seat  of  life.  He  desisted  from  his  un- 
remunerative  trial;  and  to  the  audible  annoyance  of  the 
rats,  walked  briskly  up  and  down  the  cabin.  Still  he 
was  cold.  ''This  is  all  nonsense,"  said  he.  "I  don't 
care  about  the  risk,  but  I  will  not  catch  a  catarrh.  I 
must  get  out  of  this  den." 

He  stepped  on  deck,  and  passing  to  the  bow  of  his 
embarcation,  looked  for  the  first  time  up  the  river.  He 
started.  Only  a  few  hundred  yards  above  another 
houseboat  lay  moored  among  the  willows.  It  was  very 
spick  and  span,  an  elegant  canoe  hung  at  the  stern,  the 
windows  were  concealed  by  snowy  curtains;  a  flag 
floated  from  a  staff.  The  more  Gideon  looked  at  it  the 
more  there  mingled  with  his  disgust  a  sense  of  impotent 
surprise.  It  was  very  like  his  uncle's  houseboat ;  it  was 
exceedingly  like,  it  was  identical.     But  for  two  circum- 

151 


THE   WRONG   BOX 

stances  he  could  have  sworn  it  was  the  same.  The 
first,  that  his  uncle  had  gone  to  Maidenhead,  might  be 
explained  away  by  that  flightiness  of  purpose  which  is 
so  common  a  trait  among  the  more  than  usually  manly. 
The  second,  however,  was  conclusive.  It  was  not  in 
the  least  like  Mr.  Bloomfield  to  display  a  banner  on  his 
floating  residence;  and  if  he  ever  did,  it  would  certainly 
be  dyed  in  hues  of  emblematical  propriety.  Now  the 
Squirradical,  like  the  vast  majority  of  the  more  manly, 
had  drawn  knowledge  at  the  wells  of  Cambridge  —  he 
was  wooden  spoon  in  the  year  1850;  and  the  flag  upon 
the  houseboat  streamed  on  the  afternoon  air  with  the 
colours  of  that  seat  of  Toryism,  that  cradle  of  Puseyism, 
that  home  of  the  inexact  and  the  effete  —  Oxford. 

Still  it  was  strangely  like,  thought  Gideon. 

And  as  he  thus  looked  and  thought,  the  door  opened, 
and  a  young  lady  stepped  forth  on  deck.  The  barrister 
dropped  and  fled  into  his  cabin;  it  was  Julia  Hazeltine! 
Through  the  window  he  watched  her  draw  in  the  canoe, 
get  on  board  of  it,  cast  off,  and  come  dropping  down 
stream  in  his  direction. 

"  Well,  all  is  up  now,"  said  he,  and  he  fell  on  a  seat. 

"Good-afternoon,  miss,"  said  a  voice  on  the  water. 
Gideon  knew  it  for  the  voice  of  his  landlord. 

** Good-afternoon,"  replied  Julia,  "but  I  don't  know 
who  you  are ;  do  I .?  Oh,  yes,  I  do  though.  You  are 
the  nice  man  that  gave  us  leave  to  sketch  from  the  old 
houseboat." 

Gideon's  heart  leaped  with  fear. 

*  *  That's  it, "  returned  the  man.  *  *  And  what  I  wanted 
to  say  was  as  you  couldn't  do  it  any  more.  You  see 
I've  let  it." 

152 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON 

"Let  it!"  cried  Julia. 

* '  Let  it  for  a  month, "  said  the  man.  * '  Seems  strange^ 
don't  it  ?    Can't  see  what  the  party  wants  with  it!  " 

"  It  seems  very  romantic  of  him,  I  think,"  said  Julia. 
*'  What  sort  of  a  person  is  he  ?  " 

Julia  in  her  canoe,  the  landlord  in  his  wherry,  were 
close  alongside,  and  holding  on  by  the  gunwale  of  the 
houseboat;  so  that  not  a  word  was  lost  on  Gideon. 

"  He's  a  music  man,"  said  the  landlord,  **or  at  least 
that's  what  he  told  me,  miss ;  come  down  here  to  write 
an  op'ra." 

"  Really!  "  cried  Julia,  '*  I  never  heard  of  anything  so 
delightful !  Why,  we  shall  be  able  to  slip  down  at  night 
and  hear  him  improvise!     What  is  his  name  ?" 

**Jimson,"  said  the  man. 

*' Jimson  ?  "  repeated  Julia,  and  interrogated  her  mem- 
ory in  vain.  But  indeed  our  rising  school  of  English 
music  boasts  so  many  professors  that  we  rarely  hear  of 
one  till  he  is  made  a  baronet.  *'  Are  you  sure  you  have 
it  right?" 

"Made  him  spell  it  to  me,"  replied  the  landlord. 
**J-I-M-S-0-N — Jimson;  and  hisop'ra's  called  —  some 
kind  of  tea." 

'"Some  kind  of  tea  !  "  cried  the  girl.  ''  What  a  very 
singular  name  for  an  opera!  What  can  it  be  about  .^" 
And  Gideon  heard  her  pretty  laughter  flow  abroad. 
"  We  must  try  to  get  acquainted  with  this  Mr.  Jimson; 
I  feel  sure  he  must  be  nice." 

"  Well,  miss,  I'm  afraid  I  must  be  going  on.  I've  got 
to  be  at  Haverham,  you  see." 

''Oh,  don't  let  me  keep  you,  you  kind  man!"  said 
Julia.     ' '  Good-afternoon. " 

>53 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

''Good-afternoon  to  you,  miss." 

Gideon  sat  in  the  cabin  a  prey  to  the  most  harrowing 
thoughts.  Here  he  was  anchored  to  a  rotting  houseboat, 
soon  to  be  anchored  to  it  still  more  emphatically  by  the 
presence  of  the  corpse;  and  here  was  the  country  buzz- 
ing about  him,  and  young  ladies  already  proposing  plea- 
sure parties  to  surround  his  house  at  night.  Well,  that 
meant  the  gallows;  and  much  he  cared  for  that.  What 
troubled  him  now  was  Julia's  indescribable  levity.  That 
girl  would  scrape  acquaintance  with  anybody ;  she  had 
no  reserve,  none  of  the  enamel  of  the  lady.  She  was 
familiar  with  a  brute  like  his  landlord ;  she  took  an  im- 
mediate interest  (which  she  lacked  even  the  delicacy  to 
conceal)  in  a  creature  like  Jimson !  He  could  conceive  her 
asking  Jimson  to  have  tea  with  her !  And  it  was  for  a  girl 
like  this  that  a  man  like  Gideon  —  Down,  manly  heart! 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  sound  that  sent  him  whip- 
ping behind  the  door  in  a  trice.  Miss  Hazeltine  had 
stepped  on  board  the  houseboat.  Her  sketch  was 
promising;  judging  from  the  stillness  she  supposed 
Jimson  not  yet  come;  and  she  had  decided  to  seize  oc- 
casion and  complete  the  work  of  art.  Down  she  sat 
therefore  in  the  bow,  produced  her  block  and  water- 
colours,  and  was  soon  singing  over  (what  used  to  be 
called)  the  ladylike  accomplishment.  Now  and  then 
indeed  her  song  was  interrupted,  as  she  searched  in  her 
memory  for  some  of  the  odious  little  receipts  by  means 
of  which  the  game  is  practised — or  used  to  be  practised 
in  the  brave  days  of  old ;  they  say  the  world,  and  those 
ornaments  of  the  world,  young  ladies,  are  become  more 
sophisticated  now;  but  Julia  had  probably  studied  under 
Pitman,  and  she  stood  firm  in  the  old  ways. 

154 


THE  MAfiSTRO  JIMSON 

Gideon,  meanwhile,  stood  behind  the  door,  afraid  to 
move,  afraid  to  breathe,  afraid  to  think  of  what  must 
follow,  racked  by  confinement  and  borne  to  the  ground 
with  tedium.  This  particular  phase,  he  felt  with  grati- 
tude, could  not  last  forever;  whatever  impended  (even 
the  gallows,  he  bitterly  and  perhaps  erroneously  reflect- 
ed) could  not  fail  to  be  a  relief.  To  calculate  cubes  oc- 
curred to  him  as  an  ingenious  and  even  profitable  refuge 
from  distressing  thoughts,  and  he  threw  his  manhood 
into  that  dreary  exercise. 

Thus,  then,  were  these  two  young  persons  occupied, 
Gideon  attacking  the  perfect  number  with  resolution; 
Julia  vigorously  stippling  incongruous  colours  on  her 
block,  when  Providence  despatched  into  these  waters 
a  steam  launch  asthmatically  panting  up  the  Thames. 
All  along  the  banks  the  water  swelled  and  fell,  and  the 
reeds  rustled.  The  houseboat  itself,  that  ancient  sta- 
tionary creature,  became  suddenly  imbued  with  life,  and 
rolled  briskly  at  her  moorings,  like  a  sea-going  ship 
when  she  begins  to  smell  the  harbour  bar.  The  wash 
had  nearly  died  away,  and  the  quick  panting  of  the 
launch  sounded  already  faint  and  far  off,  when  Gideon 
was  startled  by  a  cry  from  Julia.  Peering  through  the 
window,  he  beheld  her  staring  disconsolately  down 
stream  at  the  fast-vanishing  canoe.  The  barrister 
(whatever  were  his  faults)  displayed  on  this  occasion  a 
promptitude  worthy  of  his  hero,  Robert  Skill;  with  one 
effort  of  his  mind  he  foresaw  what  was  about  to  follow ; 
with  one  movement  of  his  body  he  dropped  to  the  floor 
and  crawled  under  the  table. 

Julia,  on  her  part,  was  not  yet  alive  to  her  position. 
She  saw  she  had  lost  the  canoe,  and  she  looked  forward 

»55 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

with  something  less  than  avidity  to  her  next  interview 
with  Mr.  Bloomfield ;  but  she  had  no  idea  that  she  was 
imprisoned,  for  she  knew  of  the  plank  bridge. 

She  made  the  circuit  of  the  house,  and  found  the  door 
open  and  the  bridge  withdrawn.  It  was  plain,  then, 
that  Jimson  must  have  come;  plain,  too,  that  he  must 
be  on  board.  He  must  be  a  very  shy  man  to  have 
suffered  this  invasion  of  his  residence,  and  made  no 
sign;  and  her  courage  rose  higher  at  the  thought.  He 
must  come  now,  she  must  force  him  from  his  privacy, 
for  the  plank  was  too  heavy  for  her  single  strength ;  so 
she  tapped  upon  the  open  door.  Then  she  tapped 
again. 

"  Mr.  Jimson,"  she  cried,  '*Mr.  Jimson!  here,  come! 
■ — you  mmt  come,  you  know,  sooner  or  later,  for  I  can't 
get  off"  without  you.  Oh,  don't  be  so  exceedingly  silly ! 
Oh,  please,  come! " 

Still  there  was  no  reply. 

*'If  he  is  here  he  must  be  mad,"  she  thought  with 
a  little  fear.  And  the  next  moment  she  remembered 
he  had  probably  gone  abroad  like  herself  in  a  boat.  In 
that  case,  she  might  as  well  see  the  houseboat,  and 
she  pushed  open  the  door  and  stepped  in.  Under  the 
table,  where  he  lay  smothered  with  dust,  Gideon's 
heart  stood  still. 

There  were  the  remains  of  Jimson's  lunch.  '  *  He  likes 
rather  nice  things  to  eat,"  she  thought.  **0h,  I  am 
sure  he  is  quite  a  delightful  man.  I  wonder  if  he  is  as 
good-looking  as  Mr.  Forsyth.  Mrs.  Jimson  —  I  don't 
believe  it  sounds  as  nice  as  Mrs.  Forsyth;  but  then 
*  Gideon  '  is  so  really  odious !  And  here  is  some  of  his 
music  too;   this  is  delightful.     Orange  Pekoe  —  Oh, 

156 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON 

that's  what  he  meant  by  some  kind  of  tea."  And  she 
trilled  with  laughter.  ''  Adagio  molto  espressivo,  sempre 
legato, ' '  she  read  next.  (For  the  literary  part  of  a  com- 
poser's business  Gideon  was  well  equipped.)  ''How 
very  strange  to  have  all  these  directions,  and  only  three 
or  four  notes!  Oh,  here's  another  with  some  more. 
Andante  patetico. ' '  And  she  began  to  glance  over  the 
music.  *'  O  dear  me,"  she  thought,  "he  must  be  ter- 
ribly modern !  It  all  seems  discords  to  me.  Let's  try 
the  air.  It  is  very  strange,  it  seems  familiar."  She 
began  to  sing  it,  and  suddenly  broke  off  with  laughter. 
''Why,  it's  Tommy  make  room  for  your  Uncle!'"  she 
cried  aloud,  so  that  the  soul  of  Gideon  was  filled  with 
bitterness.  ''Andante  patetico,  indeed!  The  man 
must  be  a  mere  impostor." 

And  just  at  this  moment  there  came  a  confused,  scuf- 
fling sound  from  underneath  the  table;  a  strange  note, 
like  that  of  a  barn-door  fowl,  ushered  in  a  most  explo- 
sive sneeze ;  the  head  of  the  sufferer  was  at  the  same 
time  brought  smartly  in  contact  with  the  boards  above; 
and  the  sneeze  was  followed  by  a  hollow  groan. 

Julia  fled  to  the  door,  and  there,  with  the  salutary  in- 
stinct of  the  brave,  turned  and  faced  the  danger.  There 
was  no  pursuit.  The  sounds  continued;  below  the 
table  a  crouching  figure  was  indistinctly  to  be  seen 
jostled  by  the  throes  of  a  sneezing  fit;  and  that  was 
all. 

"Surely,"  thought  Julia,  "this  is  most  unusual  be- 
haviour.    He  cannot  be  a  man  of  the  world ! " 

Meanwhile  the  dust  of  years  had  been  disturbed  by 
the  young  barrister's  convulsions ;  and  the  sneezing  fit 
was  succeeded  by  a  passionate  access  of  coughing. 

>57 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

Julia  began  to  feel  a  certain  interest.  ''I  am  afraid 
you  are  really  quite  ill,"  she  said,  drawing  a  little  nearer. 
**  Please  don't  let  me  put  you  out,  and  do  not  stay  under 
that  table,  Mr.  Jimson.  Indeed  it  cannot  be  good  for 
you." 

Mr.  Jimson  only  answered  by  a  distressing  cough; 
and  the  next  moment  the  girl  was  on  her  knees  and 
their  faces  had  almost  knocked  together  under  the  table. 

**0h,  my  gracious  goodness!"  exclaimed  Miss  Ha- 
zeltine,  and  sprang  to  her  feet.  **Mr.  Forsyth  gone 
mad ! " 

"I  am  not  mad,"  said  the  gentleman  ruefully,  extri- 
cating himself  from  his  position.  * '  Dearest  Miss  Hazel- 
tine,  I  vow  to  you  upon  my  knees  I  am  not  mad! " 

''You  are  not! "  she  cried,  panting. 

''I  know,"  he  said,  ''that  to  a  superficial  eye  my 
conduct  may  appear  unconventional." 

"If  you  are  not  mad,  it  was  no  conduct  at  all,"  cried 
the  girl,  with  a  flash  of  colour,  "and  showed  you  did 
not  care  one  penny  for  my  feelings! " 

"This  is  the  very  devil  and  all.  I  know — I  admit 
that, "  cried  Gideon,  with  a  great  effect  of  manly  candour. 

' '  It  was  abominable  conduct ! "  said  Julia,  with  energy. 

"I  know  it  must  have  shaken  your  esteem,"  said  the 
barrister.  "But,  dearest  Miss  Hazeltine,  I  beg  of  you 
to  hear  me  out;  my  behaviour,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
is  not  unsusceptible  of  explanation;  and  I  positively 
cannot  and  will  not  consent  to  continue  to  try  to  exist 
without  —  without  the  esteem  of  one  whom  I  admire  — 
the  moment  is  ill-chosen,  I  am  well  aware  of  that;  but 
I  repeat  the  expression  —  one  whom  I  admire." 

A  touch  of  amusement  appeared  on  Miss  Hazeltine's 
158 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON 

face.  '*  Very  well,"  said  she,  "come  out  of  this  dread- 
fully cold  place,  and  let  us  sit  down  on  deck."  The 
barrister  dolefully  followed  her.  "Now,"  said  she, 
making  herself  comfortable  against  the  end  of  the  house, 
"go  on.  I  will  hear  you  out."  And  then  seeing  him 
stand  before  her  with  so  much  obvious  disrelish  to  the 
task,  she  was  suddenly  overcome  with  laughter.  Julia's 
laugh  was  a  thing  to  ravish  lovers ;  she  rolled  her  mirth- 
ful descant  with  the  freedom  and  the  melody  of  a  black- 
bird's song  upon  the  river,  and  repeated  by  the  echoes 
of  the  further  bank,  it  seemed  a  thing  in  its  own  place 
and  a  sound  native  to  the  open  air.  There  was  only 
one  creature  who  heard  it  without  joy,  and  that  was 
her  unfortunate  admirer. 

"Miss  Hazeltine,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  tottered 
with  annoyance,  "I  speak  as  your  sincere  well-wisher, 
but  this  can  only  be  called  levity." 

Julia  made  great  eyes  at  him. 

" I  can't  withdraw  the  word,"  he  said;  "already  the 
freedom  with  which  I  heard  you  hobnobbing  with  a 
boatman  gave  me  exquisite  pain.  Then  there  was  a 
want  of  reserve  about  Jimson " 

"  But  Jimson  appears  to  be  yourself,"  objected  Julia. 

"  I  am  far  from  denying  that, "  cried  the  barrister,  *  *  but 
you  did  not  know  it  at  the  time.  What  could  Jimson 
be  to  you  ?  Who  was  Jimson  ?  Miss  Hazeltine,  it  cut 
me  to  the  heart." 

"Really  this  seems  to  me  to  be  very  silly,"  returned 
Julia,  with  severe  decision.  "  You  have  behaved  in  the 
most  extraordinary  manner;  you  pretend  you  are  able  to 
explain  your  conduct,  and  instead  of  doing  so  you  be- 
gin to  attack  me." 

»59 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

**I  am  well  aware  of  that,"  replied  Gideon.  **I  —  I 
will  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  When  you  know  all  the 
circumstances  you  will  be  able  to  excuse  me.^' 

And  sitting  down  beside  her  on  the  deck,  he  poured 
forth  his  miserable  history. 

*'0h,  Mr.  Forsyth,"  she  cried,  when  he  had  done. 
* '  I  am  —  so  —  sorry !  I  wish  I  hadn't  laughed  at  you — 
only  you  know  you  really  were  so  exceedingly  funny. 
But  I  wish  I  hadn't,  and  I  wouldn't  either  if  I  had  only 
known."     And  she  gave  him  her  hand. 

Gideon  kept  it  in  his  own.  **  You  do  not  think  the 
worse  of  me  for  this  ?  "  he  asked,  tenderly. 

*' Because  you  have  been  so  silly  and  got  into  such 
dreadful  trouble.^  you  poor  boy,  no!  "  cried  Julia;  and 
in  the  warmth  of  the  moment,  reached  him  her  other 
hand;  *'you  may  count  on  me,"  she  added. 

** Really?"  said  Gideon. 

"  Really  and  really! "  replied  the  girl. 

*'  I  do  then,  and  I  will,"  cried  the  young  man,  "  I  ad- 
mit the  moment  is  not  well  chosen ;  but  I  have  no  friends 
—  to  speak  of." 

' '  No  more  have  I, "  said  Julia.  ' '  But  don't  you  think 
it's  perhaps  time  you  gave  me  back  my  hands  ?  " 

''La  ci  darem  la  mano,"  said  the  barrister,  ''the 
merest  moment  more!  I  have  so  few  friends,"  he 
added. 

*'I  thought  it  was  considered  such  a  bad  account  of 
a  young  man  to  have  no  friends,"  observed  Julia. 

'*0h,  but  I  have  crowds  oi friends!  '*  cried  Gideon. 
*' That's  not  what  1  mean.  I  feel  the  moment  is  ill 
chosen ;  but  oh,  Julia,  if  you  could  only  see  yourself ! " 

''Mr.  Forsyth " 

1 60 


THE  MAfiSTRO  JIMSON 

** Don't  call  me  by  that  beastly  name!"  cried  the 
youth.     "Call  me  Gideon!" 

"Oh,  never  that!"  from  Julia.  "Besides,  we  have 
known  each  other  such  a  short  time." 

"Not  at  all!"  protested  Gideon.  "We  met  at 
Bournemouth  ever  so  long  ago.  I  never  forgot  you 
since.  Say  you  never  forgot  me.  Say  you  never  forgot 
me,  and  call  me  Gideon !  " 

"  Isn't  this  rather  —  a  want  of  reserve  about  Jimson  }'* 
inquired  the  girl. 

"Oh,  I  know  I  am  an  ass,"  cried  the  barrister,  "and 
I  don't  care  a  half-penny!  I  know  I'm  an  ass,  and  you 
may  laugh  at  me  to  your  heart's  delight."  And  as  Ju- 
lia's lips  opened  with  a  smile,  he  once  more  dropped 
into  music.  "There's  the  Land  of  Cherry  Isle!"  he 
sang,  courting  her  with  his  eyes. 

"  It's  like  an  opera,"  said  Julia,  rather  faintly. 

"What  should  it  be?"  said  Gideon.  "Am  I  not 
Jimson  ?  It  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not  serenade  my 
love.  Oh,  yes,  I  mean  the  word,  my  Julia;  and  I  mean 
to  win  you.  I  am  in  dreadful  trouble,  and  I  have  not  a 
penny  of  my  own,  and  I  have  cut  the  silliest  figure;  and 
yet  I  mean  to  win  you,  Julia.  Look  at  me,  if  you  can, 
and  tell  me  no!" 

She  looked  at  him ;  and  whatever  her  eyes  may  have 
told  him,  it  is  to  be  supposed  he  took  a  pleasure  in  the 
message,  for  he  read  it  a  long  while. 

"And  Uncle  Ned  will  give  us  some  money  to  go  on 
upon  in  the  meanwhile,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"Well,  I  call  that  cool! "  said  a  cheerful  voice  at  his 
elbow. 

Gideon  and  Julia  sprang  apart  with  wonderful  alac- 
i6i 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

rity ;  the  latter  annoyed  to  observe  that  although  they 
had  never  moved  since  they  sat  down,  they  were  now 
quite  close  together;  both  presenting  faces  of  a  very 
heightened  colour  to  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Edward  Hugh 
Bloomfield.  That  gentleman,  coming  up  the  river  in  his 
boat,  had  captured  the  truant  canoe,  and  divining  what 
had  happened,  had  thought  to  steal  a  march  on  Miss 
Hazeltine  at  her  sketch.  He  had  unexpectedly  brought 
down  two  birds  with  one  stone;  and  as  he  looked  upon 
the  pair  of  flushed  and  breathless  culprits,  the  pleasant 
human  instinct  of  the  match-maker  softened  his  heart. 

''Well,  I  call  that  cool,"  he  repeated;  ''you  seem 
to  count  very  securely  upon  Uncle  Ned.  But  look  here, 
Gid,  I  thought  I  had  told  you  to  keep  away  ?  " 

"To  keep  away  from  Maidenhead,"  replied  Gid. 
"  But  how  should  I  expect  to  find  you  here  ?" 

"There  is  something  in  that,"  Mr.  Bloomfield  admit- 
ted. "  You  see  I  thought  it  better  that  even  you  should 
be  ignorant  of  my  address;  those  rascals,  the  Fins- 
burys,  would  have  wormed  it  out  of  you.  And  just  to 
put  them  off  the  scent  I  hoisted  these  abominable  col- 
ours. But  that  is  not  all,  Gid;  you  promised  me  to 
work,  and  here  I  find  you  playing  the  fool  at  Pad- 
wick." 

"Please,  Mr.  Bloomfield,  you  must  not  be  hard  on 
Mr.  Forsyth,"  said  Julia.  "  Poor  boy,  he  is  in  dreadful 
straits. " 

"What's  this,  Gid  ?  "  inquired  the  uncle.  "  Have  you 
been  fighting  ?  or  is  it  a  bill  ?  " 

These,  in  the  opinion  of  the  Squirradical,  were  the 
two  misfortunes  incident  to  gentlemen ;  and  indeed  both 
were  culled  from  his  own  career.     He  had  once  put  his 

162 


THE  MAESTRO  JIMSON 

name  (as  a  matter  of  form)  on  a  friend's  paper;  it  had 
cost  him  a  cool  thousand ;  and  the  friend  had  gone  about 
with  the  fear  of  death  upon  him  ever  since,  and  never 
turned  a  corner  without  scouting  in  front  of  him  for  Mr. 
Bloomfield  and  the  oaken  staff.  As  for  fighting,  the 
Squirradical  was  always  on  the  brink  of  it;  and  once, 
when  (in  the  character  of  president  of  a  radical  club)  he 
had  cleared  out  the  hall  of  his  opponents,  things  had 
gone  even  further.  Mr.  Holtum,  the  conservative  can- 
didate, who  lay  so  long  on  the  bed  of  sickness,  was  pre- 
pared to  swear  to  Mr.  Bloomfield.  "  I  will  swear  to  it 
in  any  court  —  it  was  the  hand  of  that  brute  that  struck 
me  down,"  he  was  reported  to  have  said;  and  when  he 
was  thought  to  be  sinking,  it  was  known  that  he  had 
made  an  ante-mortem  statement  in  that  sense.  It  was 
a  cheerful  day  for  the  Squirradical  when  Holtum  was 
restored  to  his  brewery. 

"It's  much  worse  than  that,"  said  Gideon,  '*a  com- 
bination of  circumstances  really  providentially  unjust  — 
a  —  in  fact,  a  syndicate  of  murderers  seem  to  have  per- 
ceived my  latent  ability  to  rid  them  of  the  traces  of  their 
crime.  It's  a  legal  study,  after  all,  you  see!"  And 
with  these  words,  Gideon,  for  the  second  time  that 
day,  began  to  describe  the  adventures  of  the  Broad  wood 
Grand. 

"I  must  write  to  The  Times/'  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield. 

*'  Do  you  want  to  get  me  disbarred  ?  "  asked  Gideon. 

'' Disbarred!  Come,  it  can't  be  as  bad  as  that,"  said 
his  uncle.  ''It's  a  good,  honest,  liberal  government 
that's  in,  and  they  would  certainly  move  at  my  request. 
Thank  God,  the  days  of  tory  jobbery  are  at  an  end." 

**lt  wouldn't  do.  Uncle  Ned,"  said  Gideon. 
163 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

*'  But  you're  not  mad  enough,"  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield, 
*'to  persist  in  trying  to  dispose  of  it  yourself?" 

*' There  is  no  other  path  open  to  me,"  said  Gideon. 

"It's  not  common-sense,  and  I  will  not  hear  of  it," 
cried  Mr.  Bloomfield.  **I  command  you,  positively, 
Gid,  to  desist  from  this  criminal  interference." 

*' Very  well,  then,  I  hand  it  over  to  you,"  said  Gid- 
eon, ''and  you  can  do  what  you  like  with  the  dead 
body." 

''God  forbid!  "  ejaculated  the  president  of  the  radical 
club,  "I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"  Then  you  must  allow  me  to  do  the  best  I  can,"  re- 
turned his  nephew.  "Believe  me,  I  have  a  distinct 
talent  for  this  sort  of  difficulty." 

"We  might  forward  it  to  that  pest-house,  the  Con- 
servative Club,"  observed  Mr.  Bloomfield.  "It  might 
damage  them  in  the  eyes  of  their  constituents;  and  it 
could  be  profitably  worked  up  in  the  local  journal." 

"If  you  see  any  political  capital  in  the  thing,"  said 
Gideon,  "you  may  have  it  for  me." 

"No,  no,  Gid  —  no,  no,  I  thought jvo^  might.  I  will 
have  no  hand  in  the  thing.  On  reflection,  it's  highly 
undesirable  that  either  I  or  Miss  Hazeltine  should  linger 
here.  We  might  be  observed,"  said  the  president, 
looking  up  and  down  the  river;  "and  in  my  public  po- 
sition, the  consequences  would  be  painful  for  the  party. 
And  at  any  rate,  it's  dinner  tirne." 

"What?"  cried  Gideon,  plunging  for  his  watch. 
"And  so  it  is!  Great  heaven,  the  piano  should  have 
been  here  hours  ago !  " 

Mr.  Bloomfield  was  clambering  back  into  his  boat; 
but  at  these  words  he  paused. 

164 


THE  MAESTRO  jIMSON 

*'I  saw  it  arrive  myself  at  the  station;  I  hired  a  car- 
rier man;  he  had  a  round  to  make,  but  he  was  to  be 
here  by  four  at  the  latest,"  cried  the  barrister.  **No 
doubt  the  piano  is  open,  and  the  body  found." 

"You  must  fly  at  once,"  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield,  'Mt's 
the  only  manly  step." 

* '  But  suppose  it's  all  right  ?  "  wailed  Gideon.  ' '  Sup- 
pose the  piano  comes,  and  I  am  not  here  to  receive  it  ? 
I  shall  have  hanged  myself  by  my  cowardice.  No, 
Uncle  Ned,  inquiries  must  be  made  in  Padwick;  I  dare 
not  go,  of  course;  but  you  may,  you  could  hang  about 
the  police  oifice,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"No,  Gid  —  no,  my  dear  nephew,"  said  Mr.  Bloom- 
field,  with  the  voice  of  one  on  the  rack.  "I  regard  you 
with  the  most  sacred  affection ;  and  I  thank  God  I  am 
an  Englishman  —  and  all  that.  But  not  —  not  the  police, 
Gid." 

"Then  you  desert  me?  "said  Gideon.  "Say  it  plainly." 

"  Far  from  it!  far  from  it! "  protested  Mr.  Bloomfield. 
"I  only  propose  caution.  Common-sense,  Gid,  should 
always  be  an  Englishman's  guide." 

"Will  you  let  me  speak  ?  "  said  Julia.  "  I  think  Gid- 
eon had  better  leave  this  dreadful  houseboat,,  and  wait 
among  the  willows  over  there.  If  the  piano  comes, 
then  he  could  step  out  and  take  it  in ;  and  if  the  police 
come,  he  could  slip  into  our  houseboat,  and  there 
needn't  be  any  more  Jimson  at  all.  He  could  go  to  bed, 
and  we  could  burn  his  clothes  (couldn't  we  ?)  in  the 
steam  launch ;  and  then  really  it  seems  as  if  it  would  be 
all  right.  Mr.  Bloomfield  is  so  respectable,  you  know, 
and  such  a  leading  character,  it  would  be  quite  impos- 
sible even  to  fancy  that  he  could  be  mixed  up  with  it." 

165 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

**This  young  lady  has  strong  common-sense,"  said 
the  Squirradical. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  I'm  at  all  a  fool,"  said  Julia,  with 
conviction. 

"  But  what  if  neither  of  them  come  ?  "  asked  Gideon ; 
** what  shall  I  do  then?" 

"Why,  then,"  said  she,  "you  had  better  go  down 
to  the  village  after  dark;  and  I  can  go  with  you,  and 
then  I  am  sure  you  could  never  be  suspected;  and  even 
if  you  were,  I  could  tell  them  it  was  altogether  a  mis- 
take." 

"  1  will  not  permit  that  —  1  will  not  suffer  Miss  Hazel- 
tine  to  go,"  cried  Mr.  Bloomfield. 

"Why?"  asked  Julia. 

Mr.  Bloomfield  had  not  the  least  desire  to  tell  her  why, 
for  it  was  simply  a  craven  fear  of  being  drawn  himself 
into  the  imbroglio ;  but  with  the  usual  tactics  of  a  man 
who  is  ashamed  of  himself,  he  took  the  high  hand. 
"God  forbid,  my  dear  Miss  Hazeltine,  that  1  should  dic- 
tate to  a  lady  on  the  question  of  propriety — "  he  began. 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  interrupted  Julia.  "Then  we 
must  go  all  three." 

"  Caught!  "  thought  the  Squirradical. 


166 


CHAPTER  XII 

POSITIVELY  THE   LAST   APPEARANCE   OF  THE   BROADWOOD 
GRAND 

England  is  supposed  to  be  unmusical;  but  without 
dwelling  on  the  patronage  extended  to  the  organ-grinder, 
without  seeking  to  found  any  argument  on  the  preva- 
lence of  the  Jew's  trump,  there  is  surely  one  instrument 
that  may  be  said  to  be  national  in  the  fullest  acceptance 
of  the  word.  The  herdboy  in  the  broom,  already  musi- 
cal in  the  days  of  Father  Chaucer,  startles  (and  perhaps 
pains)  the  lark  with  this  exiguous  pipe;  and  in  the 
hands  of  the  skilled  bricklayer. 

The  thing  becomes  a  trumpet,  whence  he  blows 

(as  a  general  rule)  either  The  British  Grenadiers,  or 
Cherry  Ripe.  The  latter  air  is  indeed  the  shibboleth 
and  diploma  piece  of  the  penny  whistler;  I  hazard  a 
guess  it  was  originally  composed  for  this  instrument. 
It  is  singular  enough  that  a  man  should  be  able  to  gain 
a  livelihood,  or  even  to  tide  over  a  period  of  unem- 
ployment, by  the  display  of  his  proficiency  upon  the 
penny  whistle;  still  more  so,  that  the  professional  should 
almost  invariably  confine  himself  to  Cherry  Ripe.  But 
indeed,  singularities  surround  the  subject,  thick  like 

167 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

blackberries.  Why,  for  instance,  should  the  pipe  be 
called  a  penny  whistle  ?  I  think  no  one  ever  bought  it 
for  a  penny.  Why  should  the  alternative  name  be  tin 
whistle  ?  I  am  grossly  deceived  if  it  be  made  of  tin. 
Lastly,  in  what  deaf  catacomb,  in  what  earless  desert, 
does  the  beginner  pass  the  excruciating  interval  of  his 
apprenticeship  ?  We  have  all  heard  people  learning  the 
piano,  the  fiddle,  and  the  cornet;  but  the  young  of  the 
penny  whistler  (like  that  of  the  salmon)  is  occult  from 
observation;  he  is  never  heard  until  proficient;  and 
providence  (perhaps  alarmed  by  the  works  of  Mr.  Mal- 
lock)  defends  human  hearing  from  his  first  attempts 
upon  the  upper  octave. 

A  really  noteworthy  thing  was  taking  place  in  a  green 
lane,  not  far  from  Padwick.  On  the  bench  of  a  carrier's 
cart  there  sat  a  tow-headed,  lanky,  modest-looking 
youth ;  the  reins  were  on  his  lap ;  the  whip  lay  behind 
him  in  the  interior  of  the  cart;  the  horse  proceeded 
without  guidance  or  encouragement;  the  carrier  (or  the 
carrier's  man)  wrapt  into  a  higher  sphere  than  that  of 
his  daily  occupations,  his  looks  dwelling  on  the  skies, 
devoted  himself  wholly  to  a  brand  new  D  penny  whistle, 
whence  he  diffidently  endeavoured  to  elicit  that  pleas- 
ing melody  The  Ploughboy.  To  any  observant  person 
who  should  have  chanced  to  saunter  in  that  lane,  the 
hour  would  have  been  thrilling.  "Here  at  last,"  he 
would  have  said,  'Ms  the  beginner." 

The  tow-headed  youth  (whose  name  was  Marker) 
had  just  encored  himself  for  the  nineteenth  time,  when 
he  was  struck  into  the  extreme  of  confusion  by  the  dis- 
covery that  he  was  not  alone. 

** There  you  have  it!"  cried  a  manly  voice  from  the 

1 68 


LAST  APPEARANCE  OF  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND 

side  of  the  road.  **  That's  as  good  as  I  want  to  hear. 
Perhaps  a  leetle  oilier  in  the  run,"  the  voice  suggested, 
with  meditative  gusto.     "  Give  it  us  again." 

Marker  glanced,  from  the  depths  of  his  humiliation, 
at  the  speaker.  He  beheld  a  powerful,  sun-brown, 
clean-shaven  fellow,  about  forty  years  of  age,  striding 
beside  the  cart  with  a  non-commissioned  military  bear- 
ing, and  (as  he  strode)  spinning  in  the  air  a  cane.  The 
fellow's  clothes  were  very  bad,  but  he  looked  clean  and 
self-reliant. 

''  I'm  only  a  beginner,"  gasped  the  blushing  Marker, 
*'l  didn't  think  anybody  could  hear  me." 

''Well,  I  like  that!"  returned  the  other.  ** You're  a 
pretty  old  beginner.  Come,  I'll  give  you  a  lead  myself. 
Give  us  a  seat  here  beside  you." 

The  next  moment  the  military  gentleman  was  perched 
on  the  cart,  pipe  in  hand.  He  gave  the  instrument  a 
knowing  rattle  on  the  shaft,  mouthed  it,  appeared  to 
commune  for  a  moment  with  the  muse,  and  dashed 
into  The  Girl  I  left  behind  Me.  He  was  a  great,  rather 
than  a  fine,  performer;  he  lacked  the  bird-like  richness; 
he  could  scarce  have  extracted  all  the  honey  out  of 
Cherry  Ripe;  he  did  not  fear  —  he  even  ostentatiously 
displayed  and  seemed  to  revel  in  the  shrillness  of  the 
instrument;  but  in  fire,  speed,  precision,  evenness,  and 
fluency;  in  linked  agility  oi jimmy — a  technical  expres- 
sion, by  your  leave,  answering  to  warblers  on  the  bag- 
pipe ;  and  perhaps,  above  all,  in  that  inspiring  side-glance 
of  the  eye,  with  which  he  followed  the  effect  and  (as  by 
a  human  appeal)  eked  out  the  insufficiency  of  his  per- 
formance: in  these,  the  fellow  stood  without  a  rival. 
Marker  listened :  The  Girl  Heft  behind  Me  filled  him  with 

i6d 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

despair;  The  Soldier's  Joy  carried  him  beyond  jealousy 
into  generous  enthusiasm. 

"Turn  about,"  said  the  military  gentleman,  offering 
the  pipe. 

**0h,  not  after  you!"  cried  Marker;  ''you're  a  pro- 
fessional." 

"No, "said  his  companion;  "an  amatyure  like  your- 
self. That's  one  style  of  play,  yours  is  the  other,  and 
I  like  it  best.  But  I  began  when  I  was  a  boy,  you  see, 
before  my  taste  was  formed.  When  you're  my  age 
you'll  play  that  thing  like  a  cornet-a-piston.  Give  us 
that  air  again;  how  does  it  go?"  and  he  affected  to  en- 
deavour to  recall  The  Ploughboy. 

A  timid,  insane  hope  sprang  in  the  breast  of  Marker. 
Was  it  possible  ?  Was  there  something  in  his  playing.? 
It  had,  indeed,  seemed  to  him  at  times  as  if  he  got  a 
kind  of  a  richness  out  of  it.  Was  he  a  genius  ?  Mean- 
time the  military  gentleman  stumbled  over  the  air. 

"No,"  said  the  unhappy  Marker,  ''that's  not  quite  it. 
It  goes  this  way — just  to  show  you." 

And,  taking  the  pipe  between  his  lips,  he  sealed  his 
doom.  When  he  had  played  the  air,  and  then  a  second 
time,  and  a  third;  when  the  military  gentleman  had  tried 
it  once  more,  and  once  more  failed;  when  it  became 
clear  to  Marker  that  he,  the  blushing  debutant,  was  ac- 
tually giving  a  lesson  to  this  full-grown  flutist  —  and  the 
flutist  under  his  care  was  not  very  brilliantly  progress- 
ing—  how  am  I  to  tell  what  floods  of  glory  brightened 
the  autumnal  countryside;  how,  unless  the  reader  were 
an  amateur  himself,  describe  the  heights  of  idiotic 
vanity  to  which  the  carrier  climbed  ?  One  significant 
fact  shall  paint  the  situation :  thenceforth  it  was  Marker 

170 


LAST  APPEARANCE  OF  THE  BROADWOOD   GRAND 

who  played,  and  the  military  gentleman  listened  and 
approved. 

As  he  listened,  however,  he  did  not  forget  the  habit 
of  soldierly  precaution,  looking  both  behind  and  before. 
He  looked  behind  and  computed  the  value  of  the  car- 
rier's load,  divining  the  contents  of  the  brown  paper 
parcels  and  the  portly  hamper,  and  briefly  setting  down 
the  grand  piano  in  the  brand  new  piano-case  as  "diffi- 
cult to  get  rid  of"  He  looked  before,  and  spied  at  the 
corner  of  the  green  lane  a  little  country  public-house 
embowered  in  roses.  "I'll  have  a  shy  at  it,"  concluded 
the  military  gentleman,  and  roundly  proposed  a  glass. 

"Well,  I'm  not  a  drinking  man,"  said  Harker. 

"Look  here,  now,"  cut  in  the  other,  "I'll  tell  you 
who  I  am:  I'm  Colour-sergeant  Brand  of  the  Blankth. 
That'll  tell  you  if  I'm  a  drinking  man  or  not."  It  might 
and  it  might  not,  thus  a  Greek  chorus  would  have  in- 
tervened, and  gone  on  to  point  out  how  very  far  it  fell 
short  of  telling  why  the  sergeant  was  tramping  a  coun- 
try lane  in  tatters ;  or  even  to  argue  that  he  must  have 
pretermitted  some  while  ago  his  labours  for  the  general 
defence,  and  (in  the  interval)  possibly  turned  his  atten- 
tion to  oakum.  But  there  was  no  Greek  chorus  present ; 
and  the  man  of  war  went  on  to  contend  that  drinking 
was  one  thing  and  a  friendly  glass  another. 

In  the  Blue  Lion,  which  was  the  name  of  the  country 
public-house.  Colour-sergeant  Brand  introduced  his  nev/ 
friend,  Mr.  Harker,  to  a  number  of  ingenious  mixtures, 
calculated  to  prevent  the  approaches  of  intoxication. 
These  he  explained  to  be  "rekisite"  in  the  service,  so 
that  a  self-respecting  officer  should  always  appear  upon 
parade  in  a  condition  honourable  to  his  corps.     The 

171 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

most  efficacious  of  these  devices  was  to  lace  a  pint  of 
mild  ale  with  twopence  worth  of  London  gin.  I  am 
pleased  to  hand  in  this  recipe  to  the  discerning  reader, 
who  may  find  it  useful  even  in  civil  station;  for  its 
effect  upon  Mr.  Marker  was  revolutionary.  He  must 
be  helped  on  board  his  own  wagon,  where  he  proceeded 
to  display  a  spirit  entirely  given  over  to  mirth  and 
music,  alternately  hooting  with  laughter,  to  which  the 
sergeant  hastened  to  bear  chorus,  and  incoherently 
tootling  on  the  pipe.  The  man  of  war,  meantime,  un- 
ostentatiously possessed  himself  of  the  reins.  It  was 
plain  he  had  a  taste  for  the  secluded  beauties  of  an 
English  landscape;  for  the  cart,  although  it  wandered 
under  his  guidance  for  some  time,  was  never  observed 
to  issue  on  the  dusty  highway,  journeying  between 
hedge  and  ditch,  and  for  the  most  part  under  over- 
hanging boughs.  It  was  plain,  besides,  he  had  an  eye 
to  the  true  interests  of  Mr.  Marker ;  for  though  the  cart 
drew  up  more  than  once  at  the  doors  of  public-houses, 
it  was  only  the  sergeant  who  set  foot  to  ground,  and 
being  equipped  himself  with  a  quart  bottle,  once  more 
proceeded  on  his  rural  drive. 

To  give  any  idea  of  the  complexity  of  the  sergeant's 
course,  a  map  of  that  part  of  Middlesex  would  be  re- 
quired, and  my  publisher  is  averse  from  the  expense. 
Suffice  it,  that  a  little  after  the  night  had  closed,  the  cart 
was  brought  to  a  standstill  in  a  woody  road;  where  the 
sergeant  lifted  from  among  the  parcels,  and  tenderly 
deposited  upon  the  wayside,  the  inanimate  form  of 
Marker. 

*Mfyou  come  to  before  daylight,"  thought  the  ser- 
geant, "  I  shall  be  surprised  for  one." 

172 


LAST  APPEARANCE  OF  THE  BROADWOOO  GRAND 

From  the  various  pockets  of  the  slumbering  carrier,  he 
gently  collected  the  sum  of  seventeen  shillings  and 
eightpence  sterling;  and  getting  once  more  into  the 
cart,  drove  thoughtfully  away. 

*'If  I  was  exactly  sure  of  where  I  was,  it  would  be  a 
good  job,"  he  reflected.     **  Anyway,  here's  a  corner." 

He  turned  it,  and  found  himself  upon  the  riverside.  A 
little  above  him  the  lights  of  a  houseboat  shone  cheer- 
fully ;  and  already  close  at  hand,  so  close  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  avoid  their  notice,  three  persons,  a  lady  and 
two  gentlemen,  were  deliberately  drawing  near.  The 
sergeant  put  his  trust  in  the  convenient  darkness  of  the 
night,  and  drove  on  to  meet  them.  One  of  the  gentle- 
men, who  was  of  a  portly  figure,  walked  in  the  midst 
of  the  fairway  and  presently  held  up  a  staff  by  way  of 
signal. 

'*My  man,  have  you  seen  anything  of  a  carrier's 
cart  ?  "  he  cried. 

Dark  as  it  was,  it  seemed  to  the  sergeant  as  though 
the  slimmer  of  the  two  gentlemen  had  made  a  motion  to 
prevent  the  other  speaking,  and  (finding  himself  too 
late)  had  skipped  aside  with  some  alacrity.  At  another 
season,  Sergeant  Brand  would  have  paid  more  attention 
to  the  fact;  but  he  was  then  immersed  in  the  perils  of 
his  own  predicament. 

**  A  carrier's  cart  ?"  said  he,  with  a  perceptible  uncer- 
tainty of  voice.     ''No,  sir." 

"  Ah!  '*  said  the  portly  gentleman,  and  stood  aside  to 
let  the  sergeant  pass.  The  lady  appeared  to  bend  for- 
ward and  study  the  cart  with  every  mark  of  sharpened 
curiosity;  the  slimmer  gentleman  still  keeping  in  the 
rear. 

J7^ 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

**  I  wonder  what  the  devil  they  would  be  at,"  thought 
Sergeant  Brand ;  and  looking  fearfully  back,  he  saw  the 
trio  standing  together  in  the  midst  of  the  way,  like  folk 
consulting.  The  bravest  of  military  heroes  are  not  al- 
ways equal  to  themselves  as  to  their  reputation;  and 
fear,  on  some  singular  provocation,  will  find  a  lodge- 
ment in  the  most  unfamiliar  bosom.  The  word  "de- 
tective" might  have  been  heard  to  gurgle  in  the  ser- 
geant's throat;  and  vigorously  applying  the  whip,  he 
fled  up  the  riverside  road  to  Great  Haverham,  at  the 
gallop  of  the  carrier's  horse.  The  lights  of  the  house- 
boat flashed  upon  the  flying  wagon  as  it  passed ;  the 
beat  of  hoofs  and  the  rattle  of  the  vehicle  gradually  coa- 
lesced and  died  away ;  and  presently,  to  the  trio  on  the 
riverside,  silence  had  redescended. 

"  It's  the  most  extraordinary  thing,"  cried  the  slimmer 
of  the  two, gentlemen,  ''but  that's  the  cart!  " 

"  And  I  know  I  saw  a  piano,"  said  the  girl. 

*'0h,  it's  the  cart,  certainly;  and  the  extraordinary 
thing  is,  it's  not  the  man,"  added  the  first. 

"It  must  be  the  man,  Gid,  it  must  be,"  said  the  portly 
one. 

*  *  Well,  then,  why  is  he  running  away  ?  "  asked  Gideon. 

"His  horse  bolted,  I  suppose,"  said  the  Squirradical. 

"  Nonsense!  I  heard  the  whip  going  like  a  flail,"  said 
Gideon.     "  It  simply  defies  the  human  reason." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  broke  in  the  girl,  "he  came  round 
that  corner.  Suppose  we  went  and  —  what  do  they  call 
it  in  books?  —  followed  his  trail.?  There  may  be  a 
house  there,  or  somebody  who  saw  him,  or  something." 

"Well,  suppose  we  did,  for  the  fun  of  the  thing," 
said  Gideon. 

»74 


LAST  APPEARANCE  OF  THE  BROADWOOD  GRAND 

The  fun  of  the  thing  (it  would  appear)  consisted  in  the 
extremely  close  juxtaposition  of  himself  and  Miss  Ha- 
zeltine.  To  Uncle  Ned,  who  was  excluded  from  these 
simple  pleasures,  the  excursion  appeared  hopeless  from 
the  first;  and  when  a  fresh  perspective  of  darkness 
opened  up,  dimly  contained  between  park  palings  on 
the  one  side  and  a  hedge  and  ditch  upon  the  other,  the 
whole  without  the  smallest  signal  of  human  habitation, 
the  Squirradical  drew  up. 

''This  is  a  wild-goose  chase,"  said  he. 

With  the  cessation  of  the  footfalls,  another  sound 
smote  upon  their  ears. 

"Oh,  what's  that?"  cried  Julia. 

"I  can't  think,"  said  Gideon. 

The  Squirradical  had  his  stick  presented  like  a  sword. 
'*Gid,"  he  began,  '' Gid,  I " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Forsyth !  "  cried  the  girl.  *'  Oh !  don't  go 
forward,  you  don't  know  what  it  might  be  —  it  might 
be  something  perfectly  horrid." 

**  It  may  be  the  devil  itself,"  said  Gideon,  disengag- 
ing himself,  "but  I  am  going  to  see  it." 

"Don't  be  rash,  Gid,"  cried  his  uncle. 

The  barrister  drew  near  to  the  sound,  which  was  cer- 
tainly of  a  portentous  character.  In  quality,  it  appeared 
to  blend  the  strains  of  the  cow,  the  fog-horn,  and  the  mos- 
quito ;  and  the  startling  manner  of  its  enunciation  added 
incalculably  to  its  terrors.  A  dark  object,  not  unlike  the 
human  form  divine,  appeared  on  the  brink  of  the  ditch. 

"It's  a  man,"  said  Gideon,  "it's  only  a  man;  he 
seems  to  be  asleep  and  snoring.  Hullo,"  he  added,  a 
moment  after,  "there  must  be  something  wrong  with 
him,  he  won't  waken." 

"75 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

Gideon  produced  his  vestas,  struck  one,  and  by  its 
light  recognised  the  tow-head  of  Marker. 

"This  is  the  man,"  said  he,  '*as  drunk  as  Belial.  I 
see  the  whole  story; "  and  to  his  two  companions,  who 
had  now  ventured  to  rejoin  him,  he  set  forth  a  theory  of 
the  divorce  between  the  carrier  and  his  cart,  which  was 
not  unlike  the  truth. 

''Drunken  brute!  "  said  Uncle  Ned,  ** let's  get  him  to 
a  pump  and  give  him  what  he  deserves." 

**Not  at  all!"  said  Gideon.  "It  is  highly  undesira- 
ble he  should  see  us  together;  and  really,  do  you  know, 
I  am  very  much  obliged  to  him,  for  this  is  about  the 
luckiest  thing  that  could  have  possibly  occurred.  It 
seems  to  me  —  Uncle  Ned,  I  declare  to  heaven  it  seems 
to  me  I'm  clear  of  it!  " 

"Clear  of  what  ?  "  asked  the  Squirradical. 

"  The  whole  affair! "  cried  Gideon.  "  That  man  has 
been  ass  enough  to  steal  the  cart  and  the  dead  body; 
what  he  hopes  to  do  with  it,  I  neither  know  nor  care. 
My  hands  are  free,  Jimson  ceases;  down  with  Jimson. 
Shake  hands  with  me,  Uncle  Ned  —  Julia,  darling  girl, 
Julia,  I " 

"Gideon,  Gideon!"  said  his  uncle. 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,  uncle,  when  we're  going  to  be 
married  so  soon,"  said  Gideon.  "You  know  you  said 
so  yourself  in  the  houseboat." 

"Did  I  ?"  said  Uncle  Ned,  "I  am  certain  I  said  no 
such  thing." 

"  Appeal  to  him,  tell  him  he  did,  get  on  his  soft  side," 
cried  Gideon.  "  He's  a  real  brick  if  you  get  on  his  soft 
side." 

"Dear  Mr.  Bloomfield,"  said  Julia,  "I  know  Gideon 
176 


LAST  APPEARANCE  OF  THE   BROADWOOD   GRAND 

will  be  such  a  very  good  boy,  and  he  has  promised  me 
to  do  such  a  lot  of  law,  and  1  will  see  that  he  does  too. 
And  you  know  it  is  so  very  steadying  to  young  men, 
everybody  admits  that;  though,  of  course,  I  know  I  have 
no  money,  Mr.  Bloomfield,"  she  added. 

'*  My  dear  young  lady,  as  this  rapscallion  told  you  to- 
day on  the  boat,  JJncIe  Ned  has  plenty,"  said  the  Squir- 
radical,  ''and  I  can  never  forget  that  you  have  been 
shamefully  defrauded.  So  as  there's  nobody  looking, 
you  had  better  give  your  Uncle  Ned  a  kiss.  There,  you 
rogue,"  resumed  Mr.  Bloomfield,  when  the  ceremony 
had  been  daintily  performed,  "this  very  pretty  young 
lady  is  yours,  and  a  vast  deal  more  than  you  deserve. 
But  now,  let  us  get  back  to  the  houseboat,  get  up  steam 
on  the  launch,  and  away  back  to  town." 

'' That's  the  thing!  "  cried  Gideon;  *' and  to-morrow, 
there  will  be  no  houseboat,  and  no  Jimson,  and  no  car- 
rier's cart,  and  no  piano;  and  when  Marker  awakes  on 
the  ditch  side,  he  may  tell  himself  the  whole  affair  has 
been  a  dream." 

''Aha!"  said  Uncle  Ned,  "but  there's  another  man 
who  will  have  a  different  awakening.  That  fellow  in 
the  cart  will  find  he  has  been  too  clever  by  half." 

"  Uncle  Ned  and  Julia,"  said  Gideon,  "  I  am  as  happy 
as  the  King  of  Tartary,  my  heart  is  like  a  threepenny  bit, 
my  heels  are  like  feathers ;  I  am  out  of  all  my  troubles, 
Julia's  hand  is  in  mine.  Is  this  a  time  for  anything  but 
handsome  sentiments  ?  Why,  there's  not  room  in  me 
for  anything  that's  not  angelic!  And  when  I  think  of 
that  poor  unhappy  devil  in  the  cart,  1  stand  here  in  the 
night  and  cry  with  a  single  heart  —  God  help  him! " 

"Amen,"  said  Uncle  Ned. 
177 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS:   PART  THE  SECOND 

In  a  really  polite  age  of  literature,  I  would  have  scorned 
to  cast  my  eye  again  on  the  contortions  of  Morris.  But 
the  study  is  in  the  spirit  of  the  day ;  it  presents,  besides, 
features  of  a  high,  almost  a  repulsive  morality;  and  if  it 
should  prove  the  means  of  preventing  any  respectable 
and  inexperienced  gentleman  from  plunging  light-heart- 
edly into  crime,  even  political  crime,  this  work  will  not 
have  been  penned  in  vain. 

He  rose  on  the  morrow  of  his  night  with  Michael,  rose 
from  the  leaden  slumber  of  distress,  to  find  his  hand 
tremulous,  his  eyes  closed  with  rheum,  his  throat 
parched,  and  his  digestion  obviously  paralysed.  "Lord 
knows  it's  not  from  eating!  "  Morris  thought;  and  as  he 
dressed  he  reconsidered  his  position  under  several  heads. 
Nothing  will  so  well  depict  the  troubled  seas  in  which 
he  was  now  voyaging  as  a  review  of  these  various  anxi- 
eties. I  have  thrown  them  (for  the  reader's  convenience) 
into  a  certain  order;  but  in  the  mind  of  one  poor  human 
equal,  they  whirled  together  like  the  dust  of  hurricanes. 
With  the  same  obliging  preoccupation,  I  have  put  a  name 
to  each  of  his  distresses ;  and  it  will  be  observed  with 
pity  that  every  individual  item  would  have  graced  and 
commended  the  cover  of  a  railway  novel. 

178 


THE   TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  SECOND 

Anxiety  the  First :  Where  is  the  Body  ?  or,  the  Mystery 
of  Bent  Pitman.  It  was  now  manifestly  plain  that  Bent 
Pitman  (as  was  to  be  looked  for  from  his  ominous  ap- 
pellation) belonged  to  the  darker  order  of  the  criminal 
class.  An  honest  man  would  not  have  cashed  the  bill; 
a  humane  man  would  not  have  accepted  in  silence  the 
tragic  contents  of  the  water-butt;  a  man,  who  was  not 
already  up  to  the  hilts  in  gore,  would  have  lacked  the 
means  of  secretly  disposing  them.  This  process  of 
reasoning  left  a  horrid  image  of  the  monster,  Pitman. 
Doubtless  he  had  long  ago  disposed  of  the  body  — 
dropping  it  through  a  trap-door  in  his  back  kitchen, 
Morris  supposed,  with  some  hazy  recollection  of  a  pic- 
ture in  a  penny  dreadful;  and  doubtless  the  man  now 
lived  in  wanton  splendor  on  the  proceeds  of  the  bill. 
So  far,  all  was  peace.  But  with  the  profligate  habits  of 
a  man  like  Bent  Pitman  (who  was  no  doubt  a  hunch- 
back in  the  bargain),  eight  hundred  pounds  could  be 
easily  melted  in  a  week.  When  they  were  gone,  what 
would  he  be  likely  to  do  next.?  A  hell-like  voice  in 
Morris's  own  bosom  gave  the  answer:  **  Blackmail 
me. 

Anxiety  the  Second :  The  Fraud  of  the  Tontine;  or.  Is 
my  Uncle  Dead?  This,  on  which  all  Morris's  hopes 
depended,  was  yet  a  question.  He  had  tried  to  bully 
Teena;  he  had  tried  to  bribe  her;  and  nothing  came  of 
it.  He  had  his  moral  conviction  still;  but  you  cannot 
blackmail  a  sharp  lawyer  on  a  moral  conviction.  And 
besides,  since  hisjnterview  with  Michael,  the  idea  wore 
a  less  attractive  countenance.  Was  Michael  the  man  to 
be  blackmailed  ?  and  was  Morris  the  man  to  do  it  ? 
Grave  considerations.     ''It's  not  that  I  am  afraid  of 

179 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

him,"  Morris  so  far  condescended  to  reassure  himself; 
*'but  I  must  be  very  certain  of  my  ground,  and  the 
deuce  of  it  is,  I  see  no  way.  How  unlike  is  life  to 
novels!  I  wouldn't  have  even  begun  this  business  in 
a  novel,  but  what  I'd  have  met  a  dark,  slouching  fellow 
in  the  Oxford  Road,  who'd  have  become  my  accom- 
plice, and  known  all  about  how  to  do  it,  and  probably 
broken  into  Michael's  house  at  night  and  found  nothing 
but  a  wax-work  image;  and  then  blackmailed  or  mur- 
dered me.  But  here,  in  real  life,  I  might  walk  the  streets 
till  I  dropped  dead,  and  none  of  the  criminal  classes 
would  look  near  me.  Though,  to  be  sure,  there  is 
always  Pitman,"  he  added,  thoughtfully. 

Anxiety  the  Third :  The  Cottage  at  Browndean  ;  or. 
The  Underpaid  Accomplice.  For  he  had  an  accomplice, 
and  that  accomplice  was  blooming  unseen  in  a  damp 
cottage  in  Hampshire  with  empty  pockets.  What  could 
be  done  about  that .?  He  really  ought  to  have  sent  him 
something;  if  it  was  only  a  post-office  order  for  five- 
bob,  enough  to  prove  that  he  was  kept  in  mind,  enough 
to  keep  him  in  hope,  beer,  and  tobacco.  "But  what 
would  you  have  ?  "  thought  Morris ;  and  ruefully  poured 
into  his  hand  a  half-crown,  a  florin,  and  eightpence  in 
small  change.  For  a  man  in  Morris's  position,  at  war 
with  all  society,  and  conducting,  with  the  hand  of  in- 
experience, a  widely  ramified  intrigue,  the  sum  was 
already  a  derision.  John  would  have  to  be  doing;  no 
mistake  of  that.  * '  But  then, "  asked  the  hell-like  voice, 
*'  how  long  is  John  likely  to  stand  it  ?  " 

Anxiety  the  Fourth :  The  Leather  Business ;  or.  The 
Shutters  at  Last ;  a  Tale  of  the  City.  On  this  head, 
Morris  had  no  news.    He  had  not  yet  dared  to  visit  the 

1 80 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  SECOND 

family  concern ;  yet  he  knew  he  must  delay  no  longer, 
and  if  anything  had  been  wanted  to  sharpen  this  con- 
viction, Michael's  references  of  the  night  before  rang 
ambiguously  in  his  ear.  Well  and  good.  To  visit  the 
city  might  be  indispensable;  but  what  was  he  to  do 
when  he  was  there?  He  had  no  right  to  sign  in  his 
own  name;  and  with  all  the  will  in  the  world,  he 
seemed  to  lack  the  art  of  signing  with  his  uncle's. 
Under  these  circumstances,  Morris  could  do  nothing  to 
procrastinate  the  crash ;  and  when  it  came,  when  pry- 
ing eyes  began  to  be  applied  to  every  joint  of  his  be- 
haviour, two  questions  could  not  fail  to  be  addressed, 
sooner  or  later,  to  a  speechless  and  perspiring  insolvent. 
Where  is  Mr.  Joseph  Finsbury  ?  and  how  about  your 
visit  to  the  bank?  Questions,  how  easy  to  put!  —  ye 
gods,  how  impossible  to  answer!  The  man  to  whom 
they  should  be  addressed  went  certainly  to  gaol,  and  — 
eh !  what  was  this  ?  —  possibly  to  the  gallows.  Morris 
was  trying  to  shave  when  this  idea  struck  him,  and  he 
laid  the  razor  down.  Here  (in  Michael's  words)  was 
the  total  disappearance  of  a  valuable  uncle ;  here  was  a 
time  of  inexplicable  conduct  on  the  part  of  a  nephew 
who  had  been  in  bad  blood  with  the  old  man  any  time 
these  seven  years ;  what  a  chance  for  a  judicial  blunder! 
"  But  no,"  thought  Morris,  "they  cannot,  they  dare  not 
make  it  murder.  Not  that.  But  honestly,  and  speak- 
ing as  a  man  to  a  man,  I  don't  see  any  other  crime  in 
the  calendar  (except  arson)  that  1  don't  seem  somehow 
to  have  committed.  And  yet  I'm  a  perfectly  respecta- 
ble man,  and  wished  nothing  but  my  due.  Law  is  a 
pretty  business." 
With  this  conclusion  firmly  seated  in  his  mind,  Mor- 
i8i 


THE   WRONG   BOX 

ris  Finsbury  descended  to  the  hall  of  the  house  in  John 
Street,  still  half  shaven.  There  was  a  letter  in  the  box ; 
he  knew  the  handwriting :  John  at  last. 

'*Well,  I  think  I  might  have  been  spared  this,"  he 
said  bitterly,  and  tore  it  open. 

' '  Dear  Morris, "  it  ran,  ' '  what  the  dickens  do  you  mean 
by  it.?  I'm  in  an  awful  hole  down  here;  I  have  to  go 
on  tick,  and  the  parties  on  the  spot  don't  cotton  to  the 
idea ;  they  couldn't,  because  it  is  so  plain  I'm  in  a  stait 
of  Destitution.  I've  got  no  bed-clothes,  think  of  that, 
I  must  have  coins,  the  hole  thing's  a  Mockry,  I  won't 
stand  it,  nobody  would.  I  would  have  come  away  be- 
fore, only  I  have  no  money  for  the  railway  fair.  Don't 
be  a  lunatic,  Morris,  you  don't  seem  to  understand  my 
dredful  situation.  I  have  to  get  the  stamp  on  tick.  A 
fact.     Ever  your  affte.  Brother,  J.  Finsbury." 

"  Can't  even  spell! "  Morris  reflected,  as  he  crammed 
the  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  left  the  house.  "  What  can 
I  do  for  him  ?  I  have  to  go  to  the  expense  of  a  barber, 
I'm  so  shattered!  How  can  I  send  anybody  coins  ?  It's 
hard  lines,  I  dare  say ;  but  does  he  think  I'm  living  on 
hot  muifins.?  One  comfort,"  was  his  grim  reflection, 
*'  he  can't  cut  and  run:  he's  got  to  stay,  he's  as  helpless 
as  the  dead."  And  then  he  broke  forth  again :  ''  Com- 
plains, does  he  ?  and  he's  never  even  heard  of  Bent  Pit- 
man !  If  he  had  what  I  have  on  my  mind,  he  might 
complain  with  a  good  grace." 

But  these  were  not  honest  arguments,  or  not  wholly 
honest;  there  was  a  struggle  in  the  mind  of  Morris;  he 
could  not  disguise  from  himself  that  his  brother  John 
was  miserably  situated  at  Browndean,  without  news, 
without  money,  without  bed-clothes,  without  society 

182 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART   THE  SECOND 

or  any  entertainment;  and  by  the  time  he  had  been 
shaved  and  picked  a  hasty  breakfast  at  a  coffee-tavern, 
Morris  had  arrived  at  a  compromise. 

**  Poor  Johnnie,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  he's  in  an  aw- 
ful box.  I  can't  send  him  coins;  but  I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  do,  I'll  send  him  the  Pink  Un,  it'll  cheer  John  up;  and 
besides,  it'll  do  his  credit  good  getting  anything  by  post. " 

Accordingly,  on  his  way  to  the  leather  business, 
whither  he  proceeded  (according  to  his  thrifty  habit)  on 
foot,  Morris  purchased  and  despatched  a  single  copy  of 
that  enlivening  periodical,  to  which  (in  a  sudden  pang 
of  remorse)  he  added  at  random  the  Athenaeum,  the 
Revivalist,  and  the  Penny  Pictorial  Weekly.  So  there 
was  John  set  up  with  literature,  and  Morris  had  laid 
balm  upon  his  conscience.  ' 

As  if  to  reward  him,  he  was  received  in  his  place  of 
business  with  good  news.  Orders  were  pouring  in; 
there  was  a  run  on  some  of  the  back  stock,  and  the  fig- 
ure had  gone  up;  even  the  manager  appeared  elated. 
As  for  Morris,  who  had  almost  forgotten  the  meaning 
of  good  news,  he  longed  to  sob  like  a  little  child ;  he 
could  have  caught  the  manager  (a  pallid  man  with 
startled  eyebrows)  to  his  bosom ;  he  could  have  found 
it  in  his  generosity  to  give  a  check  (for  a  small  sum)  to 
every  clerk  in  the  counting-house.  As  he  sat  and  opened 
his  letters,  a  chorus  of  airy  vocalists  sang  in  his  brain, 
to  most  exquisite  music,  *'This  old  concern  may  be 
profitable  yet,  profitable  yet,  profitable  yet." 

To  him,  in  this  sunny  moment  of  relief,  enter  a  Mr. 
Rodgerson,  a  creditor,  but  not  one  who  was  expected 
to  be  pressing,  for  his  connection  with  the  firm  was  old 
and  regular. 

.83 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

'  *  Oh,  Finsbury, ' '  said  he,  not  without  embarrassment, 
*'it's  of  course  only  fair  to  let  you  know  —  the  fact 
is,  money  is  a  trifle  tight — I  have  some  paper  out 
—  for  that  matter,  every  one's  complaining  —  and  in 
short " 

**  It  has  never  been  our  habit,  Rodgerson,"  said  Mor- 
ris, turning  pale.  "But  give  me  time  to  turn  round, 
and  I'll  see  what  I  can  do ;  I  dare  say  we  can  let  you 
have  something  on  account." 

'*Well,  that's  just  where  it  is,"  replied  Rodger- 
son.  *'I  was  tempted,  I've  let  the  credit  out  of  my 
hands." 

*'Out  of  your  hands?"  repeated  Morris.  ** That's 
playing  rather  fast  and  loose  with  us,  Mr.  Rodgerson." 

'*  Well,  I  got  cent  for  cent  for  it,"  said  the  other,  **on 
the  nail,  in  a  certified  cheque." 

"  Cent  for  cent!  "  cried  Morris.  **  Why,  that's  some- 
thing like  thirty  per  cent,  bonus;  a  singular  thing! 
Who's  the  party?" 

''Don't  know  the  man,"  was  the  reply.  **Name  of 
Moss." 

'  *  A  Jew, "  Morris  reflected,  when  his  visitor  was  gone. 
And  what  could  a  Jew  want  with  a  claim  of — he  veri- 
fied the  amount  in  the  books  —  a  claim  of  three  five 
eight,  nineteen,  ten,  against  the  house  of  Finsbury  ? 
And  why  should  he  pay  cent  for  cent?  The  figure 
proved  the  loyalty  of  Rodgerson,  even  Morris  admitted 
that.  But  it  proved  unfortunately  something  else:  the 
eagerness  of  Moss.  The  claim  must  have  been  wanted 
instantly,  for  that  day,  for  that  morning  even.  Why  ? 
The  mystery  of  Moss  promised  to  be  a  fit  pendant  to 
the  mystery  of  Pitman.     "And  just  when  all  was  look- 

184 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  SECOND 

ing  well,  too! "  cried  Morris,  smiting  his  hand  upon  the 
desk.  And  almost  at  the  same  moment,  Mr.  Moss  was 
announced. 

Mr.  Moss  was  a  radiant  Hebrew,  brutally  handsome 
and  offensively  polite.  He  was  acting  (it  appeared)  for 
a  third  party;  he  understood  nothing  of  the  circum- 
stances ;  his  client  desired  to  have  his  position  regular- 
ised; but  he  would  accept  an  antedated  cheque — ante- 
dated by  two  months,  if  Mr.  Finsbury  chose. 

*'  But  I  don't  understand  this,"  said  Morris.  **  What 
made  you  pay  cent  per  cent  for  it  to-day  ?  " 

Mr.  Moss  had  no  idea;  only  his  orders. 

**  The  whole  thing  is  thoroughly  irregular,"  said  Mor- 
ris. **  It  is  not  the  custom  of  the  trade  to  settle  at  this 
time  of  the  year.  What  are  your  instructions  if  I  re- 
fuse?" 

*M  am  to  see  Mr.  Joseph  Finsbury,  the  head  of  the 
firm, "  said  Mr.  Moss.  '  *  I  was  directed  to  insist  on  that ; 
it  was  implied  you  had  no  status  here  —  the  expressions 
are  not  mine." 

*'You  cannot  see  Mr.  Joseph;  he  is  unwell,"  said 
Morris. 

"  In  that  case  I  was  to  place  the  matter  in  the  hands 
of  a  lawyer  —  let  me  see — "  said  Mr.  Moss,  opening  a 
pocketbook,  with  perhaps  suspicious  care,  at  the  right 
place — *'Yes  —  of  Mr.  Michael  Finsbury.  A  relation, 
perhaps  ?  In  that  case,  I  presume,  the  matter  will  be 
pleasantly  arranged." 

To  pass  into  the  hands  of  Michael  was  too  much  for 
Morris;  he  struck  his  colours:  a  cheque  at  two  months 
was  nothing,  after  all.  In  two  months  he  would  prob- 
ably be  dead,  or  in  a  gaol  at  any  rate.     He  bade  the 

.85 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

manager  give  Mr.  Moss  a  chair  and  the  paper.  "I'm 
going  over  to  get  a  cheque  signed  by  Mr.  Finsbury," 
said  he,  "who  is  lying  ill  at  John  Street." 

A  cab  there  and  a  cab  back,  here  were  inroads  on  his 
wretched  capital!  He  counted  the  cost;  when  he  was 
done  with  Mr.  Moss,  he  would  be  left  with  twelve-pence 
half-penny  in  the  world.  What  was  even  worse,  he 
had  now  been  forced  to  bring  his  uncle  up  to  Blooms- 
bury.  "No  use  for  poor  Johnnie  in  Hampshire  now," 
he  reflected.  "And  how  the  farce  is  to  be  kept  up 
completely  passes  me.  At  Browndean  it  was  just  pos- 
sible; in  Bloomsbury  it  seems  beyond  human  ingenuity 
—  though  I  suppose  it's  what  Michael  does.  But  then 
he  has  accomplices,  that  Scotchman  and  the  whole 
gang.     Ah,  if  I  had  accomplices!  " 

Necessity  is  the  mother  of  the  arts ;  under  a  spur  so 
immediate  Morris  surprised  himself  by  the  neatness  and 
despatch  of  his  new  forgery ;  and  within  three-fourths 
of  an  hour  had  handed  it  to  Mr.  Moss. 

"That  is  very  satisfactory,"  observed  that  gentleman, 
rising.  "  I  was  to  tell  you  it  will  not  be  presented,  but 
you  had  better  take  care." 

The  room  swam  round  Morris.  "What  —  what's 
that!"  he  cried,  grasping  the  table;  he  was  miserably 
conscious,  the  next  moment,  of  his  shrill  tongue  and 
ashen  face.  "  What  do  you  mean  —  it  will  not  be  pre- 
sented? Why  am  I  to  take  care.^  What  is  all  this 
mummery  ?  " 

"I- have  no  idea,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  replied  the  smiling 
Hebrew.  "It  was  a  message  I  was  to  deliver;  the  ex- 
pressions were  put  into  my  mouth." 

"What  is  your  client's  name?"  asked  Morris. 
136 


THE  TRIBULATIONS   OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  SECOND 

"That  is  a  secret  for  the  moment,"  answered  Mr. 
Moss. 

Morris  bent  toward  him.  "It's  not  the  bank?"  he 
asked,  hoarsely. 

"I  have  no  authority  to  say  more,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Moss.  * '  I  will  wish  you  a  good-morning, 
if  you  please." 

"Wish  me  a  good-morning!"  thought  Morris;  and 
the  next  moment,  seizing  his  hat,  he  fled  from  his  place 
of  business  like  a  madman.  Three  streets  away  he 
stopped  and  groaned.  "Lord!  1  should  have  bor- 
rowed from  the  manager ! "  he  cried.  '  *  But  it's  too  late 
now;  it  would  look  dicky  to  go  back;  I'm  penniless  — 
simply  penniless  —  like  the  unemployed." 

He  went  home  and  sat  in  the  dismantled  dining-room 
with  his  head  in  his  hands.  Newton  never  thought 
harder  than  this  victim  of  circumstance,  and  yet  no 
clearness  came.  * '  It  may  be  a  defect  in  my  intelligence, " 
he  cried,  rising  to  his  feet,  "but  I  cannot  see  that  I  am 
fairly  used.  The  bad  luck  I've  had  is  a  thing  to  write 
to  The  Times  about;  it's  enough  to  breed  a  revolution. 
And  the  plain  English  of  the  whole  thing  is  that  I  must 
have  money  at  once.  I'm  done  with  all  morality  now; 
I'm  long  past  that  stage;  money  I  must  have,  and  the 
only  chance  I  see  is  Bent  Pitman.  Bent  Pitman  is  a 
criminal,  and  therefore  his  position's  weak.  He  must 
have  some  of  that  eight  hundred  left ;  if  he  has  I'll  force 
him  to  go  shares;  and  even  if  he  hasn't,  I'll  tell  him  the 
tontine  affair,  and  with  a  desperate  man  like  Pitman  at 
my  back,  it'll  be  strange  if  I  don't  succeed." 

Well  and  good.  But  how  to  lay  hands  upon  Bent 
Pitman,   except  by  advertisement,  was  not  so  clear. 

.87 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

And  even  so,  in  what  terms  to  ask  a  meeting  ?  on  what 
grounds  ?  and  where  ?  Not  at  John  Street,  for  it  would 
never  do  to  let  a  man  like  Bent  Pitman  know  your  real 
address;  nor  yet  at  Pitman's  house,  some  dreadful  place 
in  Holloway,  with  a  trap-door  in  the  back  kitchen;  a 
house  which  you  might  enter  in  a  light  summer  over- 
coat and  varnished  boots,  to  come  forth  again  piece- 
meal in  a  market-basket.  That  was  the  drawback  of 
a  really  efficient  accomplice,  Morris  felt,  not  without  a 
shudder.  "  I  never  dreamed  I  should  come  to  actually 
covet  such  society,"  he  thought.  And  then  a  brilliant 
idea  struck  him.  Waterloo  Station,  a  public  place, 
yet  at  certain  hours  of  the  day  a  solitary ;  a  place,  be- 
sides, the  very  name  of  which  must  knock  upon  the 
heart  of  Pitman,  and  at  once  suggest  a  knowledge  of 
the  latest  of  his  guilty  secrets.  Morris  took  a  piece  of 
paper  and  sketched  his  advertisement. 

"William  Bent  Pitman,  if  this  should  meet  the  eye 
of,  he  will  hear  of  something  to  his  advantage  at  the 
far  end  of  the  main  line  departure  platform,  Waterloo 
Station,  2  to  4  p.m.,  Sunday  next." 

Morris  reperused  this  literary  trifle  with  approbation. 
*' Terse,"  he  reflected.  ''Something  to  his  advantage 
is  not  strictly  true ;  but  it's  taking  and  original,  and  a 
man  is  not  on  oath  in  an  advertisement.  All  that  I  re- 
quire now  is  the  ready  cash  for  my  own  meals  and  for 
the  advertisement,  and  —  no,  I  can't  lavish  money  upon 
John,  but  I'll  give  him  some  more  papers.  How  to 
raise  the  wind  ?  " 

He  approached  his  cabinet  of  signets,  and  the  collector 
suddenly  revolted  in  his  blood.  "  I  will  not ! "  he  cried, 
**  nothing  shall  induce  me  to  massacre  my  collection  — 

188 


THE  TRIBULATIONS  OF  MORRIS:    PART  THE  SECOND 

rather  theft!"  And  dashing  upstairs  to  the  drawing- 
room,  he  helped  himself  to  a  few  of  his  uncle's  curiosi- 
ties: a  pair  of  Turkish  babooshes,  a  Smyrna  fan,  a 
water-cooler,  a  musket  guaranteed  to  have  been  seized 
from  an  Ephesian  bandit,  and  a  pocketful  of  curious  but 
incomplete  sea-shells. 


^ 


CHAPTER   XIV 

WILLIAM   BENT  PITMAN   HEARS   OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS 
ADVANTAGE 

On  the  morning  of  Sunday,  William  Dent  Pitman  rose 
at  his  usual  hour,  although  with  something  more  than 
the  usual  reluctance.  The  day  before  (it  should  be  ex- 
plained) an  addition  had  been  made  to  his  family  in  the 
person  of  a  lodger.  Michael  Finsbury  had  acted  spon- 
sor in  the  business,  and  guaranteed  the  weekly  bill;  on 
the  other  hand,  no  doubt  with  a  spice  of  his  prevailing 
jocularity,  he  had  drawn  a  depressing  portrait  of  the 
lodger's  character.  Mr.  Pitman  had  been  led  to  under- 
stand his  guest  was  not  good  company;  he  had  ap- 
proached the  gentleman  with  fear,  and  had  rejoiced  to 
find  himself  the  entertainer  of  an  angel.  At  tea  he  had 
been  vastly  pleased;  till  hard  on  one  in  the  morning  he 
had  sat  entranced  by  eloquence  and  progressively  forti- 
fied with  information  in  the  studio ;  and  now,  as  he  re- 
viewed over  his  toilet  the  harmless  pleasures  of  the 
evening,  the  future  smiled  upon  him  with  revived  at- 
tractions. "Mr.  Finsbury  is,  indeed,  an  acquisition," 
he  remarked  to  himself;  and  as  he  entered  the  little 
parlour,  where  the  table  was  already  laid  for  breakfast, 
the  cordiality  of  his  greeting  would  have  befitted  an 
acquaintanceship  already  old. 

*M  am  delighted  to  see  you,  sir" — these  were  his 
expressions — *'and  I  trust  you  have  slept  well." 

190 


PITMAN   HEARS  OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS  ADVANTAGE 

**  Accustomed  as  I  have  been  for  so  long  to  a  life  of 
almost  perpetual  change,"  replied  the  guest,  **the  dis- 
turbance so  often  complained  of  by  the  more  sedentary, 
as  attending  their  first  night  in  (v^hat  is  called)  a  new 
bed  is  a  complaint  from  v^hich  I  am  entirely  free." 

*'l  am  delighted  to  hear  it,"  said  the  drawing-master 
warmly.  ''But  I  see  I  have  interrupted  you  over  the 
paper." 

''The  Sunday  paper  is  one  of  the  features  of  the  age, " 
said  Mr.  Finsbury.  "In  America,  1  am  told,  it  super- 
sedes all  other  literature,  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  na- 
tion finding  their  requirements  catered  for;  hundreds  of 
columns  will  be  occupied  with  interesting  details  of  the 
world's  doings,  such  as  water-spouts,  elopements,  con- 
flagrations, and  public  entertainments ;  there  is  a  corner 
for  politics,  ladies'  work,  chess,  religion,  and  even  lit- 
erature; and  a  few  spicy  editorials  serve  to  direct  the 
course  of  public  thought.  It  is  difficult  to  estimate  the 
part  played  by  such  enormous  and  miscellaneous  re- 
positories in  the  education  of  the  people.  But  this 
(though  interesting  in  itself)  partakes  of  the  nature  of  a 
digression ;  and  what  I  was  about  to  ask  you  was  this : 
Are  you  yourself  a  student  of  the  daily  press  ?  " 

"There  is  not  much  in  the  papers  to  interest  an 
artist,"  returned  Pitman. 

"In  that  case,"  resumed  Joseph,  "an  advertisement 
which  has  appeared  the  last  two  days  in  various  jour- 
nals, and  reappears  this  morning,  may  possibly  have 
failed  to  catch  your  eye.  The  name,  with  a  trifling  va- 
riation, bears  a  strong  resemblance  to  your  own.  Ah, 
here  it  is.     If  you  please,  I  will  read  it  to  you. 

"  'William  Bent  Pitman,  if  this  should  meet  the  eye 
191 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

of,  he  will  hear  of  something  to  his  advantage  at  the 
far  end  of  the  main  line  departure  platform,  Waterloo 
Station,  2  to  4  p.  m.  to-day.'  " 

"Is  that  in  print?"  cried  Pitman.  ''Let  me  see  it! 
Bent  ?  It  must  be  Dent !  Something  to  my  advantage  ? 
Mr.  Finsbury,  excuse  me  offering  a  word  of  caution ;  I 
am  aware  how  strangely  this  must  sound  in  your  ears, 
but  there  are  domestic  reasons  why  this  little  circum- 
stance might  perhaps  be  better  kept  between  ourselves. 
Mrs.  Pitman  —  my  dear  sir,  I  assure  you  there  is  nothing 
dishonourable  in  my  secrecy ;  the  reasons  are  domestic, 
merely  domestic ;  and  I  may  set  your  conscience  at  rest 
when  I  assure  you  all  the  circumstances  are  known  to 
our  common  friend,  your  excellent  nephew,  Mr.  Michael, 
who  has  not  withdrawn  from  me  his  esteem." 

*' A  word  is  enough,  Mr.  Pitman,"  said  Joseph,  with 
one  of  his  oriental  reverences. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  drawing-master  found  Michael 
in  bed  and  reading  a  book,  the  picture  of  good-humour 
and  repose. 

''Hillo,  Pitman,"  he  said,  laying  down  his  book, 
*'  what  brings  you  here  at  this  inclement  hour  ?  Ought 
to  be  in  church,  my  boy ! " 

**I  have  little  thought  of  church  to-day,  Mr.  Fins- 
bury,"  said  the  drawing-master.  'M  am  on  the  brink 
of  something  new,  sir."  And  he  presented  the  adver- 
tisement. 

"Why,  what  is  this?"  cried  Michael,  sitting  sud- 
denly up.  He  studied  it  for  half  a  minute  with  a  frown. 
**  Pitman,  I  don't  care  about  this  document  a  particle," 
said  he. 

"It  will  have  to  be  attended  to, however,"  said  Pitman. 
192 


PITMAN   HEARS  OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS  ADVANTAGE 

*'I  thought  you'd  had  enough  of  Waterloo, "  returned 
the  lawyer.  ''Have  you  started  a  morbid  craving? 
You've  never  been  yourself  anyway  since  you  lost  that 
beard.  I  believe  now  it  was  where  you  kept  your 
senses." 

*'Mr.  Finsbury,"  said  the  drawing-master,  '*I  have 
tried  to  reason  this  matter  out,  and,  with  your  permis- 
sion, I  should  like  to  lay  before  you  the  results." 

*'Fire  away,"  said  Michael;  ''but  please.  Pitman,  re- 
member it's  Sunday,  and  let's  have  no  bad  language." 

"There  are  three  views  open  to  us,"  began  Pitman. 
"First,  this  may  be  connected  with  the  barrel;  second, 
it  may  be  connected  with  Mr.  Semitopolis'  statue;  and 
third,  it  may  be  from  my  wife's  brother,  who  went  to 
Australia.  In  the  first  case,  which  is  of  course  possible, 
I  confess  the  matter  would  be  best  allowed  to  drop." 

"The  court  is  with  you  there.  Brother  Pitman,"  said 
Michael. 

"In  the  second,"  continued  the  other,  "it  is  plainly 
my  duty  to  leave  no  stone  unturned  for  the  recovery  of 
the  lost  antique." 

"My  dear  fellow,  Semitopolis  has  come  down  like  a 
trump;  he  has  pocketed  the  loss  and  left  you  the  profit. 
What  more  would  you  have  ?"  inquired  the  lawyer. 

"I  conceive,  sir,  under  correction,  that  Mr.  Semitopo- 
lis' generosity  binds  me  to  even  greater  exertion,"  said 
the  drawing-master.  "The  whole  business  was  un- 
fortunate ;  it  was  —  I  need  not  disguise  it  from  you  —  it 
was  illegal  from  the  first:  the  more  reason  that  I  should 
try  to  behave  like  a  gentleman,"  concluded  Pitman, 
flushing. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  that,"  returned  the  lawyer. 
»93 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

*'  I  have  sometimes  thought  I  should  like  to  try  to  behave 
like  a  gentleman  myself;  only  it's  such  a  one-sided  busi- 
ness, with  the  world  and  the  legal  profession  as  they 
are. 

**Then,  in  the  third,"  resumed  the  drawing-master, 
"if  it's  Uncle  Tim,  of  course,  our  fortune's  made." 

'Mt's  not  Uncle  Tim,  though,"  said  the  lawyer. 

'*Have  you  observed  that  very  remarkable  expres- 
sion :  Something  to  his  advantage  ?  ' '  inquired  Pitman, 
shrewdly. 

**You  innocent  mutton,"  said  Michael,  "it's  the 
seediest  commonplace  in  the  English  language,  and  only 
proves  the  advertiser  is  an  ass.  Let  me  demolish  your 
house  of  cards  for  you  at  once.  Would  Uncle  Tim  make 
that  blunder  in  your  name  .^  —  in  itself,  the  blunder  is 
delicious,  a  huge  improvement  on  the  gross  reality,  and 
I  mean  to  adopt  it  in  the  future;  but  is  it  like  Uncle 
Tim?" 

"No,  it's  not  like  him,"  Pitman  admitted.  "  But  his 
mind  may  have  become  unhinged  at  Ballarat." 

"If  you  come  to  that,  Pitman,"  said  Michael,  "the 
advertiser  may  be  Queen  Victoria,  fired  with  the  desire 
to  make  a  duke  of  you.  I  put  it  to  yourself  if  that's  prob- 
able ;  and  yet  it's  not  against  the  laws  of  nature.  But 
we  sit  here  to  consider  probabilities ;  and  with  your  gen- 
teel permission,  I  eliminate  her  Majesty  and  Uncle  Tim 
on  the  threshold.  To  proceed,  we  have  your  second 
idea,  that  this  has  some  connection  with  the  statue. 
Possible ;  but  in  that  case  who  is  the  advertiser  ?  Not 
Ricardi,  for  he  knows  your  address ;  not  the  person  who 
got  the  box,  for  he  doesn't  know  your  name.  The  van- 
man,  I  hear  you  suggest,  in  a  lucid  interval.     He  might 

194 


PITMAN   HEARS  OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS  ADVANTAGE 

have  got  your  name,  and  got  it  incorrectly,  at  the  sta- 
tion ;  and  he  might  have  failed  to  get  your  address.  I 
grant  the  van-man.  But  a  question :  Do  you  really  wish 
to  meet  the  van-man  ?  " 

**  Why  should  I  not  ?  "  asked  Pitman. 

"  If  he  wants  to  meet  you, "  replied  Michael,  "observe 
this :  It  is  because  he  has  found  his  address-book,  has 
been  to  the  house  that  got  the  statue,  and  —  mark  my 
words!  —  is  moving  at  the  instigation  of  the  murderer." 

"I  should  be  very  sorry  to  think  so,"  said  Pit- 
man; '*but  I  still  consider  it  my  duty  to  Mr.  Semi- 
topolis    ..." 

** Pitman,"  interrupted  Michael,  **this  will  not  do. 
Don't  seek  to  impose  on  your  legal  adviser;  don't  try 
to  pass  yourself  off  for  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  for  that 
is  not  your  line.  Come,  I  wager  a  dinner  I  can  read 
your  thoughts.     You  still  believe  it's  Uncle  Tim." 

**Mr.  Finsbury,"  said  the  drawing-master,  colouring, 
*'you  are  not  a  man  in  narrow  circumstances,  and  you 
have  no  family.  Guendolen  is  growing  up,  a  very  prom- 
ising girl  —  she  was  confirmed  this  year ;  and  I  think  you 
will  be  able  to  enter  into  my  feelings  as  a  parent,  when 
I  tell  you  she  is  quite  ignorant  of  dancing.  The  boys  are 
at  the  board-school,  which  is  all  very  well  in  its  way; 
at  least,  I  am  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  criticise  the 
institutions  of  my  native  land.  But  I  had  fondly  hoped 
that  Harold  might  become  a  professional  musician ;  and 
little  Otho  shows  a  quite  remarkable  vocation  for  the 
Church.     I  am  not  exactly  an  ambitious  man    ..." 

"Well,  well,"  interrupted  Michael.  "Be  explicit; 
you  think  it's  Uncle  Tim." 

"It  might  be  Uncle  Tim,"  insisted  Pitman,  "and  if 
195 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

it  were,  and  I  neglected  the  occasion,  how  could  I  ever 
look  my  children  in  the  face  ?  I  do  not  refer  to  Mrs. 
Pitman   ..." 

**No,  you  never  do,"  said  Michael. 

** .  .  .  but  in  the  case  of  her  own  brother  returning 
from  Ballarat    ..."  continued  Pitman. 

** .    .    .    with  his  mind  unhinged, "  put  in  the  lawyer. 

** .  .  .  returning  from  Ballarat  with  a  large  fortune, 
her  impatience  may  be  more  easily  imagined  than  de- 
scribed," concluded  Pitman. 

'*  All  right,"  said  Michael,  "be  it  so.  And  what  do 
you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

**I  am  going  to  Waterloo,"  said  Pitman,  *Mn  dis- 
guise." 

"  All  by  your  little  self  .^  "  inquired  the  lawyer.  **  Well, 
I  hope  you  think  it  safe.  Mind  and  send  me  word  from 
the  police  cells." 

*'0h,  Mr.  Finsbury,  I  had  ventured  to  hope  —  per- 
haps you  might  be  induced  to  —  to  make  one  of  us," 
faltered  Pitman. 

*  *  Disguise  myself  on  Sunday  ?  "  cried  Michael.  ' '  How 
little  you  understand  my  principles!" 

*'  Mr.  Finsbury,  I  have  no  means  of  showing  you  my 
gratitude;  but  let  me  ask  you  one  question,"  said  Pit- 
man. '*  If  I  were  a  very  rich  client,  would  you  not  take 
the  risk  ?  " 

*'  Diamond,  Diamond,  you  know  not  what  you  do! " 
cried  Michael.  "Why,  man,  do  you  suppose  I  make  a 
practice  of  cutting  about  London  with  my  clients  in  dis- 
guise ?  Do  you  suppose  money  would  induce  me  to 
touch  this  business  with  a  stick  ?  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honor,  it  would  not.     But  I  own  I  have  a  real  curi- 

196 


PITMAN   HEARS  OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS  ADVANTAGE 

ositv  to  see  how  you  conduct  this  interview  —  that 
tempts  me;  it  tempts  me,  Pitman,  more  than  gold  —  it 
should  be  exquisitely  rich."  And  suddenly  Michael 
laughed.  "  Well,  Pitman,"  said  he,  *'  have  all  the  truck 
ready  in  the  studio.     I'll  go." 

About  twenty  minutes  after  two,  on  this  eventful  day, 
the  vast  and  gloomy  shed  of  Waterloo  lay,  like  the 
temple  of  a  dead  religion,  silent  and  deserted.  Here 
and  there,  at  one  of  the  platforms,  a  train  lay  becalmed; 
here  and  there  a  wandering  footfall  echoed;  the  cab- 
horses  outside  stamped  with  startling  reverberations  on 
the  stones :  or  from  the  neighbouring  wilderness  of  rail- 
way an  engine  snorted  forth  a  whistle.  The  main  line 
departure  platform  slumbered  like  the  rest;  the  booking- 
hutches  closed;  the  backs  of  Mr.  Haggard's  novels,  with 
which  upon  a  week-day  the  book-stall  shines  embla- 
zoned, discreetly  hidden  behind  dingy  shutters;  the 
rare  officials,  undisguisedly  somnambulant;  and  the 
customary  loiterers,  even  to  the  middle-aged  woman 
with  the  ulster  and  the  handbag,  fled  to  more  congenial 
scenes.  As  in  the  inmost  dells  of  some  small  tropic 
island  the  throbbing  of  the  ocean  lingers,  so  here  a  faint 
pervading  hum  and  trepidation  told  in  every  corner  of 
surrounding  London. 

At  the  hour  already  named,  persons  acquainted  with 
John  Dickson,  of  Ballarat,  and  Ezra  Thomas,  of  the 
United  States  of  America,  would  have  been  cheered  to 
behold  them  enter  through  the  booking-office. 

**  What  names  are  we  to  take  ?"  inquired  the  latter, 
anxiously  adjusting  the  window-glass  spectacles  which 
he  had  been  suffered  on  this  occasion  to  assume. 

'* There's  no  choice  for  you,  my  boy,"  returned  Mi- 
197 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

chael.  **  Bent  Pitman  or  nothing.  As  for  me,  I  think  I 
look  as  if  I  might  be  called  Appleby;  something  agree- 
ably old-world  about  Appleby  —  breathes  of  Devonshire 
cider.  Talking  of  which,  supposeyou  wet  your  whistle  ? 
the  interview  is  likely  to  be  trying." 

"  I  think  I'll  wait  till  afterward,"  returned  Pitman, 
"  on  the  whole,  I  think  I'll  wait  till  the  thing's  over.  I 
don't  know  if  it  strikes  you  as  it  does  me ;  but  the  place 
seems  deserted  and  silent,  Mr.  Finsbury,  and  filled  with 
very  singular  echoes." 

''Kind  of  Jack-in-the-box  feeling.^"  inquired  Mi- 
chael, ''as  if  all  these  empty  trains  might  be  filled  with 
policemen  waiting  for  a  signal  ?  and  Sir  Charles  Warren 
perched  among  the  girders  with  a  silver  whistle  to  his 
lips  ?    It's  guilt.  Pitman." 

In  this  uneasy  frame  of  mind  they  walked  nearly  the 
whole  length  of  the  departure  platform,  and  at  the 
western  extremity  became  aware  of  a  slender  figure 
standing  backed  against  a  pillar.  The  figure  was  plainly 
sunk  into  a  deep  abstraction ;  he  was  not  aware  of  their 
approach,  but  gazed  far  abroad  over  the  sunlit  station. 
Michael  stopped. 

"Holloa!"  said  he,  "can  that  be  your  advertiser?  If 
so,  I'm  done  with  it."  And  then,  on  second  thoughts: 
"Not  so,  either,"  he  resumed,  more  cheerfully.  "  Here, 
turn  your  back  a  moment.     So.     Give  me  the  specs." 

"But  you  agreed  I  was  to  have  them,"  protested  Pit- 
man. 

"Ah,  but  that  man  knows  me,"  said  Michael. 
•    "Does  he?  what's  his  name?"  cried  Pitman. 

"Oh,  he  took  me  into  his  confidence,"  returned  the 
lawyer.     "But  I  may  say  one  thing:  If  he's  your  ad- 


PITMAN   HEARS  OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS  ADVANTAGE 

vertiser  (and  he  may  be,  for  he  seems  to  have  been 
seized  with  criminal  lunacy)  you  can  go  ahead  with  a  clear 
conscience,  for  I  hold  him  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand." 

The  change  effected,  and  Pitman  comforted  with  this 
good  news,  the  pair  drew  near  to  Morris. 

''Are  you  looking  for  Mr.  William  Bent  Pitman.^" 
inquired  the  drawing-master.     '*  I  am  he." 

Morris  raised  his  head.  He  saw  before  him,  in  the 
speaker,  a  person  of  almost  indescribable  insignificance, 
in  white  spats  and  a  shirt  cut  indecently  low.  A  little 
behind  a  second  and  more  burly  figure  offered  little  to 
criticism,  except  ulster,  whiskers,  spectacles,  and  deer- 
stalker hat.  Since  he  had  decided  to  call  up  devils  from 
the  underworld  of  London,  Morris  had  pondered  deeply 
on  the  probabilities  of  their  appearance.  His  first  emo- 
tion, like  that  of  Charoba  when  she  beheld  the  sea,  was 
one  of  disappointment;  his  second  did  more  justice  to 
the  case.  Never  before  had  he  seen  a  couple  dressed 
like  these;  he  had  struck  a  new  stratum. 

"  I  must  speak  with  you  alone,"  said  he. 

''You  need  not  mind  Mr.  Appleby,"  returned  Pit- 
man.    "  He  knows  all." 

"  All  ?  Do  you  know  what  I  am  here  to  speak  of  ?  " 
inquired  Morris.     "The  barrel." 

Pitman  turned  pale,  but  it  was  with  manly  indigna- 
tion. "You  are  the  man!"  he  cried.  "You  very 
wicked  person ! " 

"Am  I  to  speak  before  him.^"  asked  Morris,  disre- 
garding these  severe  expressions. 

"He  has  been  present  throughout,"  said  Pitman. 
"He  opened  the  barrel;  your  guilty  secret  is  already 
known  to  him,  as  well  as  to  your  Maker  and  myself." 

199 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

**Well,  then,"  said  Morris,  *'what  have  you  done 
with  the  money  ?  " 

**I  know  nothing  about  any  money,"  said  Pitman. 

**You  needn't  try  that  on,"  said  Morris.  "I  have 
tracked  you  down;  you  came  to  the  station  sacrile- 
giously disguised  as  a  clergyman,  procured  my  barrel, 
opened  it,  rifled  the  body,  and  cashed  the  bill.  I  have 
been  to  the  bank,  I  tell  you!  I  have  followed  you  step 
by  step,  and  your  denials  are  childish  and  absurd." 

**Come,  come,  Morris,  keep  your  temper,"  said  Mr. 
Appleby. 

*' Michael  I"  cried  Morris,  '*  Michael  here  too!" 

**Here  too,"  echoed  the  lawyer,  **here  and  every- 
where, my  good  fellow ;  every  step  you  take  is  counted ; 
trained  detectives  follow  you  like  your  shadow ;  they 
report  to  me  every  three-quarters  of  an  hour;  no  ex- 
pense is  spared." 

Morris's  face  took  on  a  hue  of  dirty  gray.  *'  Well,  I 
don't  care;  I  have  the  less  reserve  to  keep,"  he  cried. 
**  That  man  cashed  my  bill;  it's  a  theft,  and  I  want  the 
money  back." 

''Do  you  think  I  would  lie  to  you,  Morris?"  asked 
Michael. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  his  cousin.  **I  want  my 
money." 

"It  was  I  alone  who  touched  the  body,"  began 
Michael. 

**  You  ?  Michael! "  cried  Morris,  starting  back.  **Then 
why  haven't  you  declared  the  death  ?  " 

**  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Michael. 

**  Am  I  mad  ?  or  are  you  ?  "  cried  Morris. 

"I  think  it  must  be  Pitman,"  said  Michael. 
200 


PITMAN   HEARS  OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS  ADVANTAGE 

The  three  men  stared  at  each  other,  wild-eyed. 

*'  This  is  dreadful,"  said  Morris,  "  dreadful.  I  do  not 
understand  one  word  that  is  addressed  to  me." 

*'  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  no  more  do  I,"  said 
Michael. 

*' And  in  God's  name,  why  whiskers  .?"  cried  Morris, 
pointing  in  a  ghastly  manner  at  his  cousin.  *'  Does  my 
brain  reel  ?    How  whiskers  ?  " 

*'0h,  that's  a  matter  of  detail,"  said  Michael. 

There  was  another  silence,  during  which  Morris  ap- 
peared to  himself  to  be  shot  in  a  trapeze  as  high  as  St. 
Paul's,  and  as  low  as  Baker  Street  Station. 

"  Let  us  recapitulate,"  said  Michael,  *'  unless  it's  really 
.a  dream,  in  which  case  I  wish  Teena  would  call  me  for 
breakfast.  My  friend  Pitman,  here,  received  a  barrel 
which,  it  now  appears,  was  meant  for  you.  The  barrel 
contained  the  body  of  a  man.  How  or  why  you  killed 
him    ..." 

'*!  never  laid  a  hand  on  him,"  protested  Morris. 
''This  is  what  I  have  dreaded  all  along.  But  think, 
Michael!  I'm  not  that  kind  of  man ;  with  all  my  faults, 
I  wouldn't  touch  a  hair  of  anybody's  head,  and  it  was 
all  dead  loss  to  me.     He  got  killed  in  that  vile  accident." 

Suddenly  Michael  was  seized  by  mirth  so  prolonged 
.and  excessive  that  his  companions  supposed  beyond  a 
doubt  his  reason  had  deserted  him.  Again  and  again 
he  struggled  to  compose  himself,  and  again  and  again 
laughter  overwhelmed  him  like  a  tide.  In  all  this  mad- 
dening interview  there  had  been  no  more  spectral  feature 
than  this  of  Michael's  merriment;  and  Pitman  and  Mor- 
ris, drawn  together  by  the  common  fear,  exchanged 
^glances  of  anxiety. 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

"Morris,"  gasped  the  lawyer,  when  he  was  at  last 
able  to  articulate,  "hold  on,  I  see  it  all  now.  I  can 
make  it  all  clear  in  one  word.  Here's  the  key :  /  never 
guessed  it  was  Uncle  Joseph  till  this  moment/' 

This  remark  produced  an  instant  lightening  of  the 
tension  for  Morris ;  for  Pitman,  it  quenched  the  last  ray 
of  hope  and  daylight.  Uncle  Joseph,  whom  he  had  left 
an  hour  ago  in  Norfolk  Street,  pasting  newspaper  cut- 
tings.^— it? — the  dead  body? — then  who  was  he.  Pit- 
man ?  and  was  this  Waterloo  Station  or  Colney  Hatch  ? 

"To  be  sure!"  cried  Morris;  "it  was  badly  smashed, 
I  know.  How  stupid  not  to  think  of  that.  Why,  then, 
all's  clear;  and,  my  dear  Michael,  I'll  tell  you  what — 
we're  saved,  both  saved.  You  get  the  tontine  —  I  don't 
grudge  it  you  the  least  —  and  I  get  the  leather  business, 
which  is  really  beginning  to  look  up.  Declare  the  death 
at  once,  don't  mind  me  in  the  smallest,  don't  consider 
me;  declare  the  death,  and  we're  all  right." 

"Ah,  but  I  can't  declare  it,"  said  Michael. 

"Why  not?"  cried  Morris. 

"I  can't  produce  the  corpus,  Morris.  I've  lost  it," 
said  the  lawyer. 

' '  Stop  a  bit, "  ejaculated  the  leather  merchant.  ' '  How 
is  this  ?    It's  not  possible.     I  lost  it." 

"Well,  I've  lost  it  too,  my  son,"  said  Michael,  with 
extreme  serenity.  "Not  recognising  it,  you  see,  and 
suspecting  something  irregular  in  its  origin,  I  got  rid 
of —  what  shall  we  say  ? —  got  rid  of  the  proceeds  at 
once." 

"You  got  rid  of  the  body?  What  made  you  do 
that?"  wailed  Morris.  "But  you  can  get  it  again? 
You  know  where  it  is  ?  " 

202 


PITMAN   HEARS  OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS  ADVANTAGE 

*'  I  wish  I  did,  Morris,  and  you  may  believe  me  there, 
for  it  would  be  a  small  sum  in  my  pocket;  but  the  fact 
is,  I  don't,"  said  Michael. 

"Good  Lord,"  said  Morris,  addressing  heaven  and 
earth,  ''good  Lord,  I've  lost  the  leather  business." 

Michael  was  once  more  shaken  with  laughter. 

''Why  do  you  laugh,  you  fool?"  cried  his  cousin, 
"you  lose  more  than  I.  You've  bungled  it  worse  than 
even  I  did.  If  you  had  a  spark  of  feeling,  you  would  be 
shaking  in  your  boots  with  vexation.  But  I'll  tell  you 
one  thing  —  I'll  have  that  eight  hundred  pound  —  I'll 
have  that  and  go  to  Swan  River  —  that's  mine,  anyway, 
and  your  friend  must  have  forged  to  cash  it.  Give  me 
the  eight  hundred,  here,  upon  this  platform,  or  I  go 
straight  to  Scotland  Yard  and  turn  the  whole  disreputa- 
ble story  inside  out." 

"Morris,"  said  Michael,  laying  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  "  hear  reason.  It  wasn't  us,  it  was  the  other 
man.     We  never  even  searched  the  body." 

"The  other  man  ? "  repeated  Morris. 

"  Yes,  the  other  man.  We  palmed  Uncle  Joseph  oflT 
upon  another  man,"  said  Michael. 

"You  what?  You  palmed  him  off?  That's  surely 
a  singular  expression,"  said  Morris. 

"  Yes,  palmed  him  off  for  a  piano,"  said  Michael,  with 
perfect  simplicity.  "Remarkably  full,  rich  tone,"  ha 
added, 

Morris  carried  his  hand  to  his  brow  and  looked  at  it ; 
it  was  wet  with  sweat.     "  Fever,"  said  he. 

"No,  it  was  a  Broadwood  grand,"  said  Michael. 
"  Pitman  here  will  tell  you  if  it  was  genuine  or  not." 

"  Eh  ?  Oh !  Oh,  yes,  I  believe  it  was  a  genuine  Broad- 
203 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

wood ;  I  have  played  upon  it  several  times  myself, "  said 
Pitman.     "  The  three-letter  E  was  broken." 

''  Don't  say  anything  more  about  pianos,"  said  Morris, 
with  a  strong  shudder;  *'  I'm  not  the  man  I  used  to  be! 
This  —  this  other  man  —  let's  come  to  him,  if  I  can  only 
manage  to  follow.  Who  is  he  ?  Where  can  I  get  hold 
of  him.?" 

"Ah,  that's  the  rub,"  said  Michael.  "He's  been  in 
possession  of  the  desired  article,  let  me  see  —  since 
Wednesday,  about  four  o'clock,  and  is  now,  I  should 
imagine,  on  his  way  to  the  isles  of  Javan  and  Godire." 

"Michael,"  said  Morris,  pleadingly,  "  I  am  in  a  very 
weak  state,  and  I  beg  your  consideration  for  a  kinsman. 
Say  it  slowly  again,  and  be  sure  you  are  correct.  When 
did  he  get  it  ?  " 

Michael  repeated  his  statement. 

"  Yes,  that's  the  worst  thing  yet,"  said  Morris,  draw- 
ing in  his  breath. 

"What  is  ?"  asked  the  lawyer. 

"Even  the  dates  are  sheer  nonsense,"  said  the  leather 
merchant.  *  *  The  bill  was  cashed  on  Tuesday.  There's 
not  a  gleam  of  reason  in  the  whole  transaction." 

A  young  gentleman,  who  had  passed  the  trio  and 
suddenly  started  and  turned  back,  at  this  moment  laid 
a  heavy  hand  on  Michael's  shoulder. 

"Aha,  so  this  is  Mr.  Dickson  ?"  said  he. 

The  trump  of  judgment  could  scarce  have  rung  with 
a  more  dreadful  note  in  the  ears  of  Pitman  and  the  law- 
yer. To  Morris  this  erroneous  name  seemed  a  legiti- 
mate enough  continuation  of  the  nightmare  in  which  he 
had  so  long  been  wandering.  And  when  Michael,  with 
his  brand-new  bushy  whiskers,  broke  from  the  grasp 

204 


;     PITMAN   HEARS  OF  SOMETHING  TO   HIS  ADVANTAGE 

of  the  Stranger  and  turned  to  run,  and  the  weird  little 
shaven  creature  in  the  low-necked  shirt  followed  his 
example  with  a  bird-like  screech,  and  the  stranger  (find- 
ing the  rest  of  his  prey  escape  him)  pounced  with  a 
rude  grasp  on  Morris  himself,  that  gentleman's  frame  of 
mind  might  be  very  nearly  expressed  in  the  colloquial 
phrase:  "  I  told  you  so!" 

"I  have  one  of  the  gang,"  said  Gideon  Forsyth. 

*'I  do  not  understand,"  said  Morris,  dully. 

*'  Oh,  I  will  make  you  understand,"  returned  Gideon, 
grimly. 

"You  will  be  a  good  friend  to  me  if  you  can  make 
me  understand  anything,"  cried  Morris,  with  a  sudden 
energy  of  conviction. 

*'  I  don't  know  you  personally,  do  I  ?  "  continued  Gid- 
eon, examining  his  unresisting  prisoner.  * '  Never  mind, 
I  know  your  friends.  They  are  your  friends,  are  they 
not?" 

**I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Morris. 

**  You  had  possibly  something  to  do  with  a  piano  ?" 
suggested  Gideon. 

"A  piano!"  cried  Morris,  convulsively  clasping  Gid- 
eon by  the  arm.  * '  Then  you're  the  other  man !  Where 
is  it?  Where  is  the  body?  And  did  you  cash  the 
draft?" 

*'  Where  is  the  body  ?  This  is  very  strange,"  mused 
Gideon.     *'  Do  you  want  the  body  ?  " 

*'Want  it?"  cried  Morris.  "My  whole  fortune  de- 
pends upon  it !  I  lost  it.  Where  is  it  ?  Take  me  to 
it!" 

"Oh,  you  want  it,  do  you?  And  the  other  man, 
Dickson  —  does  he  want  it?"  inquired  Gideon. 

205 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

**  Who  do  you  mean  by  Dickson  ?  Oh,  Michael  Fins- 
bury  !  Why,  of  course  he  does !  He  lost  it  too.  If  he 
had  it  he'd  have  won  the  tontine  to-morrow." 

"Michael  Finsbury!  Not  the  solicitor?"  cried  Gid- 
eon. 

"Yes,  the  solicitor,"  said  Morris.  "But  where  is 
the  body  ?  " 

"Then  that  is  why  he  sent  the  brief!  What  is  Mr. 
Finsbury's  private  address  ?  "  asked  Gideon. 

''2}}  King's  Road.  What  brief?  Where  are  you 
going  ?  Where  is  the  body  ?  "  cried  Morris,  clinging  to 
Gideon's  arm. 

"  I  have  lost  it  myself,"  returned  Gideon,  and  ran  out 
of  the  station. 


206 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE 

Morris  returned  from  Waterloo  in  a  frame  of  mind 
that  baffles  description.  He  was  a  modest  man ;  he  had 
never  conceived  an  overweening  notion  of  his  own 
powers ;  he  knew  himself  unfit  to  write  a  book,  turn  a 
table  napkin-ring,  entertain  a  Christmas  party  with 
legerdemain  —  grapple  (in  short)  any  of  those  conspic- 
uous accomplishments  that  are  usually  classed  under  the 
head  of  genius.  He  knew  —  he  admitted  —  his  parts 
to  be  pedestrian,  but  he  had  considered  them  (until 
quite  lately)  fully  equal  to  the  demands  of  life.  And  to- 
day he  owned  himself  defeated:  life  had  the  upper 
hand ;  if  there  had  been  any  means  of  flight  or  place  to 
flee  to,  if  the  world  had  been  so  ordered  that  a  man 
could  leave  it  like  a  place  of  entertainment,  Morris 
would  have  instantly  resigned  all  further  claim  on  its 
rewards  and  pleasures,  and,  with  inexpressible  content- 
ment, ceased  to  be.  As  it  was,  one  aim  shone  before 
him :  he  could  get  home.  Even  as  the  sick  dog  crawls 
under  the  sofa,  Morris  could  shut  the  door  of  John  Street 
and  be  alone. 

The  dusk  was  falling  when  he  drew  near  this  place 
of  refuge ;  and  the  first  thing  that  met  his  eyes  was  the 
figure  of  a  man  upon  the  step,  alternately  plucking  at 

207 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

the  bell-handle  and  pounding  on  the  panels.  The  man 
had  no  hat,  his  clothes  were  hideous  with  filth,  he  had 
the  air  of  a  hop-picker.  Yet  Morris  knew  him;  it  was 
John. 

The  first  impulse  of  flight  was  succeeded,  in  the  elder 
brother's  bosom,  by  the  empty  quiescence  of  despair. 
''What  does  it  matter  now.^"  he  thought,  and  draw- 
ing forth  his  latch-key  ascended  the  steps. 

John  turned  about;  his  face  was  ghastly  with  weari- 
ness, and  dirt  and  fury ;  and  as  he  recognised  the  head 
of  his  family,  he  drew  in  a  long  rasping  breath,  and 
his  eyes  glittered. 

''Open  that  door,"  he  said,  standing  back. 

"I  am  going  to,"  said  Morris,  and  added,  mentally, 
*' he  looks  like  murder! " 

The  brothers  passed  into  the  hall,  the  door  closed  be- 
hind them;  and  suddenly  John  seized  Morris  by  the 
shoulders  and  shook  him  as  a  terrier  shakes  a  rat. 
"You  mangy  little  cad,"  he  said,  "I'd  serve  you  right 
to  smash  your  skull ! "  And  shook  him  again,  so  that 
his  teeth  rattled  and  his  head  smote  upon  the  wall. 

"Don't  be  violent,  Johnny,"  said  Morris.  "It  can't 
do  any  good  now." 

"Shut  your  mouth,"  said  John,  "your  time's  come 
to  listen." 

He  strode  into  the  dining-room,  fell  into  the  easy- 
chair,  and  taking  off  one  of  his  burst  walking-shoes, 
nursed  for  a  while  his  foot  like  one  in  agony.  "I'm 
lame  for  life,"  he  said.     "  What  is  there  for  dinner  ? " 

"Nothing,  Johnny,"  said  Morris. 

"Nothing?  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  inquired 
the  Great  Vance.     "  Don't  set  up  your  chat  to  me!  " 

208 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE 

**  I  mean  simply  nothing,"  said  his  brother.  ''  I  have 
nothing  to  eat,  and  nothing  to  buy  it  with.  I've  only 
had  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  sandwich  all  this  day  myself." 

*'Only  a  sandwich?"  sneered  Vance.  "I  suppose 
you'xQ  going  to  complain  next.  But  you  had  better 
take  care:  I've  had  all  I  mean  to  take;  and  I  can  tell 
you  what  it  is,  I  mean  to  dine  and  to  dine  well.  Take 
your  signets  and  sell  them." 

"I  can't  to-day,"  objected  Morris,  "it's  Sunday." 

'M  tell  you  I'm  going  to  dine!"  cried  the  younger 
brother. 

''But  if  it's  not  possible,  Johnny?"  pleaded  the 
other. 

* '  You  nincompoop ! "  cried  Vance.  '  *  Ain't  we  house- 
holders ?  Don't  they  know  us  at  that  hotel  where  Uncle 
Parker  used  to  come?  Be  off  with  you;  and  if  you 
ain't  back  in  half  an  hour,  and  if  the  dinner  ain't  good, 
first  I'll  lick  you  till  you  don't  want  to  breathe,  and  then 
I'll  go  straight  to  the  police  and  blow  the  gaff.  Do  you 
understand  that,  Morris  Finsbury  ?  Because  if  you  do 
you  had  better  jump." 

The  idea  smiled  even  upon  the  wretched  Morris,  who 
was  sick  with  famine.  He  sped  upon  his  errand,  and 
returned  to  find  John  still  nursing  his  foot  in  the  arm- 
chair. 

"What  would  you  like  to  drink,  Johnny?"  he  in- 
quired, soothingly. 

"  Fizz,"  said  John.  "  Some  of  the  poppy  stuff  from 
the  end  bin;  a  bottle  of  the  old  port  that  Michael  liked, 
to  follow;  and  see  and  don't  shake  the  port.  And  look 
here,  light  the  fire  —  and  the  gas,  and  draw  down  the 
blinds ;  it's  cold  and  it's  getting  dark.     And  then  you 

209 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

can  lay  the  doth.  And,  I  say  —  here,  you!  bring  me 
down  some  clothes." 

The  room  looked  comparatively  habitable  by  the  time 
the  dinner  came;  and  the  dinner  itself  was  good:  strong 
gravy  soup,  filets  of  sole,  mutton  chops  and  tomato 
sauce,  roast  beef  done  rare  with  roast  potatoes,  cabinet 
pudding,  a  piece  of  Chester  cheese,  and  some  early  cel- 
ery: a  meal  uncompromisingly  British,  but  supporting. 

"Thank  God!  "  said  John,  his  nostrils  sniffing  wide, 
surprised  by  joy  into  the  unwonted  formality  of  grace. 
*'  Now  I'm  going  to  take  this  chair  with  my  back  to  the 
fire  —  there's  been  a  strong  frost  these  two  last  nights, 
and  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  bones ;  the  celery  will  be 
just  the  ticket  —  I'm  going  to  sit  here,  and  you  are  go- 
ing to  stand  there,  Morris  Finsbury,  and  play  butler." 

''But,  Johnny,  I'm  so  hungry  myself,"  pleaded  Morris. 

**  You  can  have  what  I  leave,"  said  Vance.  "  You're 
just  beginning  to  pay  your  score,  my  daisy ;  I  owe  you 
one  pound  ten;  don't  you  rouse  the  British  lion!" 
There  was  something  indescribably  menacing  in  the 
face  and  voice  of  the  Great  Vance  as  he  uttered  these 
words,  at  which  the  soul  of  Morris  withered.  "  There ! " 
resumed  the  feaster,  ''give  us  a  glass  of  the  fizz  to  start 
with.  Gravy  soup!  And  1  thought  I  didn't  like  gravy 
soup!  Do  you  know  how  I  got  here  }  "  he  asked,  with 
another  explosion  of  wrath. 

"No,  Johnny,  how  could  I.?"  said  the  obsequious 
Morris. 

"I  walked  on  my  ten  toes!"  cried  John;  "tramped 
the  whole  way  from  Browndean ;  and  begged !  I  would 
like  to  see  you  beg.  It's  not  so  easy  as  you  might  sup- 
pose.   I  played  it  on  being  a  shipwrecked  mariner  from 


THE  RETURN   OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE 

Blyth;  I  don't  know  where  Blyth  is,  do  you?  but  I 
thought  it  sounded  natural.  I  begged  from  a  little  beast 
of  a  school-boy,  and  he  forked  out  a  bit  of  twine,  and 
asked  me  to  make  a  clove-hitch ;  I  did,  too,  I  know  I 
did,  but  he  said  it  wasn't,  he  said  it  was  a  granny's 
knot,  and  I  was  a  what  d'ye  call  em,  and  he  would 
give  me  in  charge.    Then  I  begged  from  a  naval  officer 

—  he  never  bothered  me  with  knots,  but  he  only  gave 
me  a  tract;  there's  a  nice  account  of  the  British  navy! 

—  and  then  from  a  widow  woman  that  sold  lollipops, 
and  I  got  a  hunch  of  bread  from  her.  Another  party  I 
fell  in  with  said  you  could  generally  always  get  bread ; 
and  the  thing  to  do  was  to  break  a  plate-glass  window 
and  get  into  gaol ;  seemed  rather  a  brilliant  scheme.  Pass 
the  beef." 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  at  Browndean  ?'*  Morris  ven- 
tured to  inquire. 

''Skittles!"  said  John.  ''On  what.?  The  Pink  Un 
and  a  measly  religious  paper  }  I  had  to  leave  Brown- 
dean  ;  I  had  to,  I  tell  you.  I  got  tick  at  a  public,  and 
set  up  to  be  the  Great  Vance;  so  would  you,  if  you  were 
leading  such  a  beastly  existence!  And  a  card  stood  me 
a  lot  of  ale  and  stuff,  and  we  got  swipey,  talking  about 
music-halls  and  the  piles  of  tin  I  got  for  singing;  and 
then  they  got  me  on  to  sing  '  Around  her  splendid  form 
I  weaved  the  magic  circle,'  and  then  he  said  I  couldn't 
be  Vance,  and  I  stuck  to  it  like  grim  death  I  was.  It 
was  rot  of  me  to  sing,  of  course,  but  I  thought  I  could 
brazen  it  out  with  a  set  of  yokels.  It  settled  my  hash 
at  the  public,"  said  John,  with  a  sigh.  "And  then  the 
last  thing  was  the  carpenter " 

"Our  landlord } "  inquired  Morris. 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

** That's  the  party,"  said  John.  **He  came  nosing 
about  the  place,  and  then  wanted  to  know  where  the 
water-butt  was,  and  the  bed-clothes.  I  told  him  to  go 
to  the  devil;  so  would  you  too,  when  there  was  no  pos- 
sible thing  to  say!  And  then  he  said  I  had  pawned 
them,  and  did  I  know  it  was  felony  ?  Then  I  made  a 
pretty  neat  stroke.  I  remembered  he  was  deaf,  and 
talked  a  whole  lot  of  rot,  very  politely,  just  so  low  he 
couldn't  hear  a  word.  *  I  don't  hear  you,'  says  he.  '  I 
know  you  don't,  my  buck,  and  I  don't  mean  you  to,* 
says  1,  smiling  away  like  a  haberdasher.  *  I'm  hard  of 
hearing,'  he  roars.  *  I'd  be  in  a  pretty  hot  corner  if  you 
weren't,'  says  I,  making  signs  as  if  I  was  explaining 
everything.  It  was  tip-top  as  long  as  it  lasted.  *  Well,' 
he  said,  '  I'm  deaf,  worse  luck,  but  I  bet  the  constable 
can  hear  you.*  And  off  he  started  one  way,  and  I  the 
other.  They  got  a  spirit-lamp,  and  the  Pink  Un,  and 
that  old  religious  paper,  and  another  periodical  you  sent 
me.  I  think  you  must  have  been  drunk  —  it  had  a 
name  like  one  of  those  spots  that  Uncle  Joseph  used  to 
hold  forth  at,  and  it  was  all  full  of  the  most  awful 
swipes  about  poetry  and  the  use  of  the  globes.  It  was 
the  kind  of  thing  that  nobody  could  read  out  of  a  lunatic 
asylum.  The  Athxneum,  that  was  the  name!  Golly, 
what  a  paper! " 

''Aihenceum,  you  mean,"  said  Morris. 

'*I  don't  care  what  you  call  it,"  said  John,  '*  so  as  I 
don't  require  to  take  it  in !  There,  I  feel  better.  Now 
I'm  going  to  sit  by  the  fire  in  the  easy  chair;  pass  me 
the  cheese,  and  the  celery,  and  the  bottle  of  port  —  no, 
a  champagne  glass,  it  holds  more.  And  now  you  can 
pitch  in,  there's  some  of  the  fish  left,  and  a  chop,  and 


THE  RETURN   OF  THE  GREAT  VANCE 

some  fizz.  Ah,"  sighed  the  refreshed  pedestrian,  **  Mi- 
chael was  right  about  that  port;  there's  old  and  vatted 
for  you!  Michael's  a  man  I  like;  he's  clever  and  reads 
books,  and  X\\&  Athceneum,  and  all  that;  but  he's  not 
dreary  to  meet,  he  don't  talk  Athceneum  like  the  other 
parties;  why,  the  most  of  them  would  throw  a  blight 
over  a  skittle  alley !  Talking  of  Michael,  I  ain't  bored 
myself  to  put  the  question,  because  of  course  I  knew  it 
from  the  first.     You've  made  a  hash  of  it,  eh  .?" 

"Michael  made  a  hash  of  it,"  said  Morris,  flushing 
dark. 

*'What  have  we  got  to  do  with  that?"  inquired 
John. 

"He  has  lost  the  body,  that's  what  we  have  to  do 
with  it,"  cried  Morris.  "  He  has  lost  the  body,  and  the 
death  can't  be  established." 

••  Hold  on,"  said  John.  "  I  thought  you  didn't  want 
to?" 

"Oh,  we're  far  past  that,"  said  his  brother.  "It's 
not  the  tontine  now,  it's  the  leather  business,  Johnny; 
it's  the  clothes  upon  our  back." 

"Stow  the  slow  music,"  said  John,  "and  tell  your 
story  from  beginning  to  end." 

Morris  did  as  he  was  bid. 

"Well,  now,  what  did  I  tell  you?"  cried  the  Great 
Vance,  when  the  other  had  done.  "But  I  know  one 
thing;  I'm  not  going  to  be  humbugged  out  of  my 
property. " 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean  to  do,"  said 
Morris. 

"I'll  tell  you  that,"  responded  John,  with  extreme 
decision.     "  I'm  going  to  put  my  interests  in  the  hands 

213 


THE  WRONG   BOX 

of  the  smartest  lawyer  in  London;  and  whether  you  go 
to  quod  or  not  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me." 

**Why,  Johnny,  we're  in  the  same  boat!"  expostu- 
lated Morris. 

'*Are  we?"  cried  his  brother.  "I  bet  we're  not! 
Have  I  committed  forgery  ?  have  I  lied  about  Uncle  Jo- 
seph ?  have  I  put  idiotic  advertisements  in  the  comic 
papers  ?  have  I  smashed  other  people's  statues  ?  I  like 
your  cheek,  Morris  Finsbury.  No,  I've  let  you  run  my 
affairs  too  long;  now  they  shall  go  to  Michael.  I  like 
Michael,  anyway ;  and  it's  time  I  understood  my  situa- 
tion." 

At  this  moment  the  brethren  were  interrupted  by  a 
ring  at  the  bell,  and  Morris  going  timorously  to  the 
door,  received  from  the  hands  of  a  commissionnaire  a 
letter  addressed  in  the  hand  of  Michael.  Its  contents 
ran  as  follows : 

"Morris  Finsbury,  if  this  should  meet  the  eye  of,  he  will  hear  of 

Something  to  his  Advantage  at  my  office,  in  Chancery  Lane,  at  lo  a.m. 

to-morrow. 

"Michael  Finsbury." 

So  Utter  was  Morris's  subjection  that  he  did  not  wait 
to  be  asked,  but  handed  the  note  to  John  as  soon  as  he 
had  glanced  at  it  himself. 

'  *  That's  the  way  to  write  a  letter, "  cried  John.  * '  No- 
body but  Michael  could  have  written  that." 

And  Morris  did  not  even  claim  the  credit  of  priority. 


2T4 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FINAL  ADJUSTMENT  OF  THE   LEATHER  BUSINESS 

FiNSBURY  brothers  were  ushered,  at  ten  the  next  morn- 
ing, into  a  large  apartment  in  Michael's  office;  the  Great 
Vance,  somewhat  restored  from  yesterday's  exhaustion, 
but  with  one  foot  in  a  slipper;  Morris,  not  positively 
damaged,  but  a  man  ten  years  older  than  he  who  had 
left  Bournemouth  eight  days  before,  his  face  ploughed 
full  of  anxious  wrinkles,  his  dark  hair  liberally  grizzled 
at  the  temples. 

Three  persons  were  seated  at  a  table  to  receive  them : 
Michael  in  the  midst,  Gideon  Forsyth  at  his  right  hand, 
on  his  left  an  ancient  gentleman  with  spectacles  and 
silver  hair. 

''Byjings,  it's  Uncle  Joe!"  cried  John. 

But  Morris  approached  his  uncle  with  a  pale  counte- 
nance and  glittering  eyes. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  you  did  I"  he  cried.  '*You  ab- 
sconded!" 

*' Good-morning,  Morris  Finsbury,"  returned  Joseph, 
^th  no  less  asperity;  *'you  are  looking  seriously  ill." 

*'No  use  making  trouble  now,"  remarked  Michael. 
**Look  the  facts  in  the  face.  Your  uncle,  as  you  see, 
was  not  so  much  as  shaken  in  the  accident;  a  man  of 
your  humane  disposition  ought  to  be  delighted." 

215 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

'*Then,  if  that's  so,"  Morris  broke  forth,  *'how  about 
the  body?  You  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  thing  I 
schemed  and  sweated  for,  and  colported  with  my  own 
hands,  was  the  body  of  a  total  stranger  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,  we  can't  go  as  far  as  that,"  said  Michael, 
soothingly;  ''you  may  have  met  him  at  the  club." 

Morris  fell  into  a  chair.  ''  I  would  have  found  it  out 
if  it  had  come  to  the  house,"  he  complained.  *'And 
why  didn't  it  ?  why  did  it  go  to  Pitman  ?  what  right 
had  Pitman  to  open  it  ?  " 

''If  you  come  to  that,  Morris,  what  have  you  done 
with  the  colossal  Hercules  ?  "  asked  Michael. 

"  He  went  through  it  with  the  meat-axe,"  said  John.. 
"It's  all  in  spillikens  in  the  back  garden." 

"Well,  there's  one  thing,"  snapped  Morris;  "there's- 
my  uncle  again,  my  fraudulent  trustee.  He's  mine, 
anyway.  And  the  tontine,  too.  I  claim  the  tontine;  I 
claim  it  now.     I  believe  Uncle  Masterman's  dead." 

"I  must  put  a  stop  to  this  nonsense,"  said  Michael, 
"  and  that  forever.  You  say  too  near  the  truth.  In  one 
sense  your  uncle  is  dead,  and  has  been  so  long;  but  not 
in  the  sense  of  the  tontine,  which  it  is  even  on  the  cards 
he  may  yet  live  to  win.  Uncle  Joseph  saw  him  this 
morning;  he  will  tell  you  he  still  lives,  but  his  mind  is 
in  abeyance." 

"He  did  not  know  me,"  said  Joseph;  to  do  him  jus- 
tice, not  without  emotion. 

' '  So  you're  out  again  there,  Morris, "  said  John.  ' '  My 
eye,  what  a  fool  you've  made  of  yourself !  " 

"  And  that  was  why  you  wouldn't  compromise,"  said 
Morris. 

"As  for  the  absurd  position  in  which  you  and  Uncle- 
216 


FINAL  ADJUSTMENT  OF  THE   LEATHER  BUSINESS 

Joseph  have  been  making  yourselves  an  exhibition,"  re- 
sumed Michael,  "  it  is  more  than  time  it  came  to  an  end. 
I  have  prepared  a  proper  discharge  in  full,  which  you 
shall  sign  as  a  preliminary." 

"What!"  cried  Morris,  **and  lose  my  seven  thou- 
sand eight  hundred  pounds,  and  the  leather  business, 
and  the  contingent  interest,  and  get  nothing?  Thank 
you ! " 

'*  It's  like  you  to  feel  gratitude,  Morris,"  began 
Michael. 

**0h,  I  know  it's  no  good  appealing  to  you,  you 
sneering  devil!"  cried  Morris.  **But  there's  a  stranger 
present,  I  can't  think  why,  and  I  appeal  to  him.  I  was 
robbed  of  this  money  when  I  was  an  orphan,  a  mere 
child,  at  a  commercial  academy.  Since  then  I've  never 
had  a  wish  but  to  get  back  my  own.  You  may  hear  a 
lot  of  stuff  about  me;  and  there's  no  doubt  at  times  I 
have  been  ill-advised.  But  it's  the  pathos  of  my  situa- 
tion; that's  what  I  want  to  show  you." 

** Morris,"  interrupted  Michael,  **I  do  wish  you  would 
let  me  add  one  point,  for  I  think  it  will  affect  your  judg- 
ment. It's  pathetic  too  —  since  that's  your  taste  in  lit- 
erature." 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  said  Morris. 

"It's  only  the  name  of  one  of  the  persons  who's  to 
witness  your  signature,  Morris, "  replied  Michael.  ' '  His 
name's  Moss,  my  dear." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  "  I  might  have  been  sure 
it  was  you  I  "  cried  Morris. 

"You'll  sign,  won't  you  ?"  said  Michael. 

"Do  you  know  what  you're  doing?"  cried  Morris. 
"You're  compounding  a  felony." 

217 


THE  WRONG  BOX 

"Very  well,  then,  we  won't  compound  it,  Morris," 
returned  Michael.  ''See  how  little  I  understood  the 
sterling  integrity  of  your  character!  I  thought  you 
would  prefer  it  so." 

"  Look  here,  Michael,"  said  John,  "this  is  all  very  fine 
and  large ;  but  how  about  me  ?  Morris  is  gone  up,  I 
see  that;  but  I'm  not.  And  I  was  robbed  too,  mind 
you;  and  just  as  much  an  orphan,  and  at  the  blessed 
same  academy  as  himself" 

"Johnnie,"  said  Michael,  "don't  you  think  you'd 
better  leave  it  to  me  ?  " 

"I'm  your  man,"  said  John.  "You  wouldn't  de- 
ceive a  poor  orphan,  I'll  take  my  oath.  Morris,  you 
sign  that  document,  or  I'll  start  in  and  astonish  your 
weak  mind." 

With  a  sudden  alacrity,  Morris  proffered  his  willing- 
ness; clerks  were  brought  in;  the  discharge  was  exe- 
cuted; and  there  was  Joseph  a  free  man  once  more. 

"And  now,"  said  Michael,  "hear  what  I  propose  to 
do.  Here,  John  and  Morris,  is  the  leather  business 
made  over  to  the  pair  of  you  in  partnership;  I  have 
valued  it  at  the  lowest  possible  figure,  Pogram  and 
Jarris's.  And  here  is  a  cheque  for  the  balance  of  your 
fortune.  Now  you  see,  Morris,  you  start  fresh  from  the 
Commercial  Academy;  and  as  you  said  yourself  the 
leather  business  was  looking  up,  I  suppose  you'll  prob- 
ably marry  before  long.  Here's  your  marriage  present; 
from  a  Mr.  Moss." 

Morris  bounded  on  his  check  with  a  crimsoned  coun- 
tenance. 

"I  don't  understand  the  performance,"  remarked 
John.     "  It  seems  too  good  to  be  true." 

218 


FINAL  ADJUSTMENT  OF  THE   LEATHER   BUSINESS 

''It's  simply  a  re-adjustment/'  Michael  explained. 
"I  take  up  Uncle  Joseph's  liabilities;  and  if  he  gets  the 
tontine,  it's  to  be  mine.  If  my  father  gets  it,  it's  mine 
anyway,  you  see.  So  that  I'm  rather  advantageously 
placed." 

"Morris,  my  unconverted  friend,  you've  got  left," 
was  John's  comment. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Forsyth,"  resumed  Michael,  turning 
to  his  silent  guest,  "here  are  all  the  criminals  before 
you,  except  Pitman.  I  really  didn't  like  to  interrupt 
his  scholastic  career;  but  you  can  have  him  arrested  at 
the  Seminary :  I  know  his  hours.  Here  we  are,  then ; 
we're  not  pretty  to  look  at;  what  do  you  propose  to  do 
with  us  ?  " 

"Nothing  in  the  world,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  returned  Gid- 
eon. "I  seem  to  understand  that  this  gentleman"— 
indicating  Morris — "is  the  fons  et  origo  of  the  trouble; 
and  from  what  I  gather,  he  has  already  paid  through 
the  nose.  And  really,  to  be  quite  frank,  I  do  not  see 
who  is  to  gain  by  any  scandal ;  not  I,  at  least.  And 
besides,  I  have  to  thank  you  for  that  brief." 

Michael  blushed.  "It  was  the  least  I  could  do  to  let 
you  have  some  business,"  he  said.  "But  there's  one 
thing  more.  I  don't  want  you  to  misjudge  poor  Pit- 
man, who  is  the  most  harmless  being  upon  earth;  I 
wish  you  would  dine  with  me  to-night,  and  see  the 
creature  on  his  native  heath  —  say,  at  Verrey's  ?" 

"I  have  no  engagement,  Mr.  Finsbury,"  replied  Gid- 
eon. "I  shall  be  delighted.  But  —  subject  to  your 
judgment  —  can  we  do  nothing  for  the  man  in  the  cart? 
I  have  qualms  of  conscience." 

"Nothing  but  sympathise,"  said  Michael. 
219 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

A  TRIO  AND  QUARTETTE 

WRITTEN   IN   COLLABORATION   WITH   LLOYD  OSBOURNE 

PART  I 
THE  TRIO 


Copyright,  1893,  by 

Robert  Louis  Stevenson  and 

Lloyd  Osbourne. 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

CHAPTER  I 

NIGHT   ON   THE   BEACH 

THROUGHOUT  the  island  world  of  the  Pacific, 
scattered  men  of  many  European  races  and  from 
almost  every  grade  of  society  carry  activity  and  dis- 
seminate disease.  Some  prosper,  some  vegetate.  Some 
have  mounted  the  steps  of  thrones  and  owned  islands 
and  navies.  Others,  again,  must  marry  for  a  livelihood; 
a  strapping,  merry,  chocolate-coloured  dame  supports 
them  in  sheer  idleness;  and  dressed  like  natives,  but 
still  retaining  some  foreign  element  of  gait  or  attitude, 
still  perhaps  with  some  relic  (such  as  a  single  eye-glass) 
of  the  officer  and  gentleman,  they  sprawl  in  palm-leaf 
verandas,  and  entertain  an  island  audience  with  memoirs 
of  the  music-hall.  And  there  are  still  others,  less  pli- 
able, less  capable,  less  fortunate,  perhaps  less  base,  who 
continue,  even  in  these  isles  of  plenty,  to  lack  bread. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  town  of  Papeete,  three  such  men 
were  seated  on  the  beach,  under  a  purao  tree. 

It  was  late.  Long  ago  the  band  had  broken  up  and 
marched  musically  home,  a  motley  troop  of  men  and 

223 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

women,  merchant-clerks  and  navy  officers  dancing  in 
its  wake,  arms  about  waist  and  crowned  with  garlands. 
Long  ago  darkness  and  silence  had  gone  from  house  to 
house  about  the  tiny  pagan  city.  Only  the  street  lamps 
shone  on,  making  a  glow-worm  halo  in  the  umbrageous 
alleys,  or  drawing  a  tremulous  image  on  the  waters  of 
the  port.  A  sound  of  snoring  ran  among  the  piles  of 
lumber  by  the  Government  pier.  It  was  wafted  ashore 
from  the  graceful,  clipper-bottomed  schooners,  where 
they  lay  moored  close  in  like  dinghies,  and  their  crews 
were  stretched  upon  the  deck,  under  the  open  sky,  or 
huddled  in  a  rude  tent  amidst  the  disorder  of  merchan- 
dise. 

But  the  men  under  the  purao  had  no  thought  of  sleep. 
The  same  temperature  in  England  would  have  passed 
without  remark  in  summer;  but  it  was  bitter  cold  for 
the  South  Seas.  Inanimate  nature  knew  it,  and  the 
bottle  of  cocoanut  oil  stood  frozen  in  every  bird-cage 
house  about  the  island;  and  the  men  knew  it,  and  shiv- 
ered. They  wore  flimsy  cotton  clothes,  the  same  they 
had  sweated  in  by  day  and  run  the  gantlet  of  the  tropic 
showers ;  and  to  complete  their  evil  case,  they  had  had 
no  breakfast  to  mention,  less  dinner,  and  no  supper  at 
all. 

In  the  telling  South  Sea  phrase,  these  three  men  were 
on  the  beach.  Common  calamity  had  brought  them 
acquainted,  as  the  three  most  miserable  English-speak- 
ing creatures  in  Tahiti ;  and  beyond  their  misery,  they 
knew  next  to  nothing  of  each  other,  not  even  their  true 
names.  For  each  had  made  a  long  apprenticeship  in 
going  downward;  and,  each  at  some  stage  of  the  de- 
scent, had  been  shamed  into  the  adoption  of  an  alias, 

224 


NIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH 

And  yet  not  one  of  them  had  figured  in  a  court  of  jus- 
tice. Two  were  men  of  kindly  virtues;  and  one,  as  he 
sat  and  shivered  under  the  purao,  had  a  tattered  Virgil 
in  his  pocket. 

Certainly,  if  money  could  have  been  raised  upon  the 
book,  Robert  Herrick  would  long  ago  have  sacrificed 
that  last  possession.  But  the  demand  for  literature, 
which  is  so  marked  a  feature  in  some  parts  of  the  South 
Seas,  extends  not  so  far  as  the  dead  tongues ;  and  the 
Virgil,  which  he  could  not  exchange  against  a  meal, 
had  often  consoled  him  in  his  hunger.  He  would  study 
it,  as  he  lay  with  tightened  belt  on  the  floor  of  the  old 
calaboose,  seeking  favourite  passages,  and  finding  new 
ones  only  less  beautiful  because  they  lacked  the  conse- 
cration of  remembrance.  Or  he  would  pause  on  random 
country  walks,  sit  on  the  pathside,  gazing  over  the  sea, 
on  the  mountains  of  Eimeo,  and  dip  into  the  ^neid, 
seeking  sortcs.  And  if  the  oracle  (as  is  the  way  of 
oracles)  replied  with  no  very  certain  or  encouraging 
voice,  visions  of  England,  at  least,  would  throng  upon 
the  exile's  memory, —  the  busy  schoolroom;  the  green 
playing-fields ;  holidays  at  home,  and  the  perennial  roar 
of  London ;  and  the  fireside,  and  the  white  head  of  his 
father.  For  it  is  the  destiny  of  those  grave,  restrained, 
and  classic  writers,  with  whom  we  make  enforced  and 
often  painful  acquaintanceship  at  school,  to  pass  into  the 
blood  and  become  native  in  the  memory;  so  that  a 
phrase  of  Virgil  speaks  not  so  much  of  Mantua  or  Au- 
gustus, but  of  English  places  and  the  student's  own  ir- 
revocable youth. 

Robert  Herrick  was  the  son  of  an  intelligent,  active, 
and  ambitious  man,  small  partner  in  a  considerable  Lon- 

325 


THE  EBB  T!DE 

don  house.  Hopes  were  conceived  of  the  boy ;  he  was 
sent  to  a  good  school,  gained  there  an  Oxford  scholar- 
ship, and  proceeded  in  course  to  the  Western  university. 
With  all  his  talent  and  taste  (and  he  had  much  of  both) 
Robert  was  deficient  in  consistency  and  intellectual  man- 
hood, wandered  in  by-paths  of  study,  worked  at  music 
or  at  metaphysics  when  he  should  have  been  at  Greek, 
and  took  at  last  a  paltry  degree.  Almost  at  the  same 
time  the  London  house  was  disastrously  wound  up;  Mr. 
Herrick  must  begin  the  world  again  as  a  clerk  in  a 
strange  office,  and  Robert  relinquish  his  ambitions,  and 
accept  with  gratitude  a  career  that  he  detested  and  de- 
spised. He  had  no  head  for  figures,  no  interest  in  af- 
fairs, detested  the  constraint  of  hours,  and  despised  the 
aims  and  the  success  of  merchants.  To  grow  rich  was 
none  of  his  ambitions ;  rather  to  do  well.  A  worse  or 
a  more  bold  young  man  would  have  refused  the  destiny; 
perhaps  tried  his  fortune  with  his  pen ;  perhaps  enlisted. 
Robert,  more  prudent,  possibly  more  timid,  consented 
to  embrace  that  way  of  life  in  which  he  could  most 
readily  assist  his  family.  But  he  did  so  with  a  mind  di- 
vided ;  fled  the  neighbourhood  of  former  comrades,  and 
chose,  out  of  several  positions  placed  at  his  disposal,  a 
clerkship  in  New  York. 

His  career  thenceforth  was  one  of  unbroken  shame. 
He  did  not  drink,  he  was  exactly  honest,  he  was  never 
rude  to  his  employers,  yet  was  everywhere  discharged. 
Bringing  no  interest  to  his  duties,  he  brought  no  atten- 
tion ;  his  day  was  a  tissue  of  things  neglected  and  things 
done  amiss ;  and  from  place  to  place,  and  from  town  to 
town,  he  carried  the  character  of  one  thoroughly  incom- 
petent.    No  man  can  hear  the  word  applied  to  him 

226 


NIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH 

without  some  flush  of  colour,  as  indeed  there  is  none 
other  that  so  emphatically  slams  in  a  man's  face  the  door 
of  self-respect.  And  to  Herrick,  who  was  conscious  of 
talents  and  acquirements,  who  looked  down  upon  those 
humble  duties  in  which  he  was  found  wanting,  the  pain 
was  the  more  exquisite.  Early  in  his  fall  he  had  ceased 
to  be  able  to  make  remittances ;  shortly  after,  having 
nothing  but  failure  to  communicate,  he  ceased  writing 
home;  and  about  a  year  before  his  tale  begins,  turned 
suddenly  upon  the  streets  of  San  Francisco  by  a  vulgar 
and  infuriated  German  Jew,  he  had  broken  the  last  bonds 
of  self-respect,  and  upon  a  sudden  impulse,  changed  his 
name,  and  invested  his  last  dollar  in  a  passage  on  the 
mail  brigantine,  the  City  of  Papeete.  With  what  ex- 
pectation he  had  trimmed  his  flight  for  the  South  Seas, 
Herrick  perhaps  scarcely  knew.  Doubtless  there  were 
fortunes  to  be  made  in  pearl  and  copra ;  doubtless  others, 
not  more  gifted  than  himself,  had  climbed  in  the  island 
world  to  be  queens'  consorts  and  kings'  ministers.  But 
if  Herrick  had  gone  there  with  any  manful  purpose,  he 
would  have  kept  his  father's  name ;  the  alim  betrayed 
his  moral  bankruptcy ;  he  had  struck  his  flag ;  he  enter- 
tained no  hope  to  reinstate  himself  or  help  his  strait- 
ened family ;  and  he  came  to  the  islands  (where  he  knew 
the  climate  to  be  soft,  bread  cheap,  and  manners  easy)  a 
skulker  from  life's  battle  and  his  own  immediate  duty. 
Failure,  he  had  said,  was  his  portion ;  let  it  be  a  pleasant 
failure. 

It  is  fortunately  not  enough  to  say,  *'  I  will  be  base." 
Herrick  continued  in  the  islands  his  career  of  failure; 
but  in  the  new  scene,  and  under  the  new  name,  he 
suffered  no  less  sharply  than  before.     A  place  was  got, 

227 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

it  was  lost  in  the  old  style.  From  the  long-suffering  of 
the  keepers  of  restaurants,  he  fell  to  more  open  charity 
upon  the  wayside;  as  time  went  on,  good  nature  be- 
came weary,  and,  after  a  repulse  or  two,  Herrick  be- 
came shy.  There  were  women  enough  who  would 
have  supported  a  far  worse  and  a  far  uglier  man ;  Her- 
rick never  met  or  never  knew  them ;  or  if  he  did  both, 
some  manlier  feeling  would  revolt,  and  he  preferred 
starvation.  Drenched  with  rains,  broiling  by  day, 
shivering  by  night,  a  disused  and  ruinous  prison  for  a 
bedroom,  his  diet  begged  or  pilfered  out  of  rubbish 
heaps,  his  associates  two  creatures  equally  outcast  with 
himself,  he  had  drained  for  months  the  cup  of  penitence. 
He  had  known  what  it  was  to  be  resigned,  what  it  was 
to  break  forth  in  a  childish  fury  of  rebellion  against 
fate,  and  what  it  was  to  sink  into  the  coma  of  despair. 
The  time  had  changed  him.  He  told  himself  no  longer 
tales  of  an  easy  and  perhaps  agreeable  declension ;  he 
read  his  nature  otherwise;  he  had  proved  himself  in- 
capable of  rising,  and  he  now  learned  by  experience 
that  he  could  not  stoop  to  fall.  Something  that  was 
scarcely  pride  or  strength,  that  was  perhaps  only  refine- 
ment, withheld  him  from  capitulation ;  but  he  looked 
on  upon  his  own  misfortune  with  a  growing  rage,  and 
sometimes  wondered  at  his  patience. 

It  was  now  the  fourth  month  completed,  and  still 
there  was  no  change  or  sign  of  change.  The  moon, 
racing  through  a  world  of  flying  clouds  of  every  size 
and  shape  and  density,  some  black  as  inkstains,  some 
delicate  as  lawn,  threw  the  marvel  of  her  Southern 
brightness  over  the  same  lovely  and  detested  scene, — 
the  island  mountains  crowned  with  the  perennial  island 

228 


NIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH 

cloud,  the  embowered  city  studded  with  rare  lamps, 
the  masts  in  the  harbour,  the  smooth  mirror  of  the  lagoon, 
and  the  mole  of  the  barrier-reef  on  which  the  breakers 
whitened.  The  moon  shone,  too,  with  bull's-eye 
sweeps,  on  his  companions, —  on  the  stalwart  frame 
of  the  American  who  called  himself  Brown,  and  was 
known  to  be  a  master-mariner  in  some  disgrace;  and 
on  the  dwarfish  person,  the  pale  eyes,  and  toothless 
smile  of  a  vulgar  and  bad-hearted  cockney  clerk.  Here 
was  society  for  Robert  Herrick!  The  Yankee  skipper 
was  a  man  at  least;  he  had  sterling  qualities  of  tender- 
ness and  resolution ;  he  was  one  whose  hand  you  could 
take  without  a  blush.  But  there  was  no  redeeming  grace 
about  the  other,  who  called  himself  sometimes  Hay  and 
sometimes  Tomkins,  and  laughed  at  the  discrepancy; 
who  had  been  employed  in  every  store  in  Papeete,  for 
the  creature  was  able  in  his  way ;  who  had  been  dis- 
charged from  each  in  turn,  for  he  was  wholly  vile ;  who 
had  alienated  all  his  old  employers,  so  that  they  passed 
him  in  the  street  as  if  he  were  a  dog,  and  all  his  old 
comrades,  so  that  they  shunned  him  as  they  would  a 
creditor. 

Not  long  before,  a  ship  from  Peru  had  brought  an  in- 
fluenza, and  it  now  raged  in  the  island,  and  particularly 
in  Papeete.  From  all  round  the  purao  arose  and  fell  a 
dismal  sound  of  men  coughing,  and  strangling  as  they 
coughed.  The  sick  natives,  with  the  islander's  impa- 
tience of  a  touch  of  fever,  had  crawled  from  their  houses 
to  be  cool,  and,  squatting  on  the  shore  or  on  the  beached 
canoes,  painfully  expected  the  new  day.  Even  as  the 
crowing  of  cocks  goes  about  the  country  in  the  night, 
from  farm  to  farm,  accesses  of  coughing  arose,  and  spread, 

229 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

and  died  in  the  distance,  and  sprang  up  again.  Each 
miserable  shiverer  caught  the  suggestion  from  his  neigh- 
bour, was  torn  for  some  minutes  by  that  cruel  ecstasy, 
and  left  spent  and  without  voice  or  courage  when  it 
passed.  If  a  man  had  pity  to  spend,  Papeete  Beach,  on 
that  cold  night  and  in  that  infected  season,  was  a  place 
to  spend  it  on.  And  of  all  the  sufferers,  perhaps  the 
least  deserving,  but  surely  the  most  pitiable,  was  the 
London  clerk.  He  was  used  to  another  life,  to  houses, 
beds,  nursing,  and  the  dainties  of  the  sick-room ;  he  lay 
here  now,  in  the  cold  open,  exposed  to  the  gusting  of 
the  wind,  and  with  an  empty  belly.  He  was  besides 
infirm ;  the  disease  shook  him  to  the  vitals ;  and  his  com- 
panions watched  his  endurance  with  surprise.  A  pro- 
found commiseration  filled  them,  and  contended  with 
and  conquered  their  abhorrence.  The  disgust  attendant 
on  so  ugly  a  sickness  magnified  this  dislike;  at  the  same 
time,  and  with  more  than  compensating  strength,  shame 
for  a  sentiment  so  inhuman  bound  them  the  more  straitly 
to  his  service ;  and  even  the  evil  they  knew  of  him  swelled 
their  solicitude,  for  the  thought  of  death  is  always  least 
supportable  when  it  draws  near  to  the  merely  sensual 
and  selfish.  Sometimes  they  held  him  up;  sometimes, 
with  mistaken  helpfulness,  they  beat  him  between  the 
shoulders;  and  when  the  poor  wretch  lay  back,  ghastly 
and  spent,  after  a  paroxysm  of  coughing,  they  would 
sometimes  peer  into  his  face,  doubtfully  exploring  it  for 
any  mark  of  life.  There  is  no  one  but  has  some  virtue; 
that  of  the  clerk  was  courage,  and  he  would  make  haste 
to  reassure  them  in  a  pleasantry  not  always  decent. 

'M'm  all  right,  pals,"  he  gasped  once;  "this  is  the 
thing  to  strengthen  the  muscles  of  the  larynx.". 

230 


NIGHT  ON  THE   BEACH 

'*  Well,  you  take  the  cake! "  cried  the  captain. 

''Oh,  I'm  good-plucked  enough,"  pursued  the  suf- 
ferer, with  a  broken  utterance;  ''but  it  do  seem  bloom- 
in'  'ard  to  me  that  I  should  be  the  only  party  to  be  down 
with  this  form  of  vice,  and  the  only  one  to  do  the  funny 
business.  I  think  one  of  you  other  parties  might  walk 
up.     Tell  a  fellow  something." 

"The  trouble  is,  we've  nothing  to  tell,  my  son,"  re- 
turned the  captain. 

"I'll  tell  you,  if  you  like,  what  I  was  thinking, "said 
Herrick. 

"  Tell  us  anything,"  said  the  clerk.  "  I  only  want  to 
be  reminded  that  I  ain't  dead." 

Herrick  took  up  his  parable,  lying  on  his  face,  and 
speaking  slowly  and  scarce  above  his  breath ;  not  like  a 
man  who  has  anything  to  say,  but  like  one  talking 
against  time. 

"Well,  I  was  thinking  this,"  he  began.  "I  was 
thinking  I  lay  on  Papeete  Beach  one  night, —  all  moon 
and  squalls,  and  fellows  coughing, —  and  I  was  cold 
and  hungry,  and  down  in  the  mouth,  and  was  about 
ninety  years  of  age,  and  had  spent  about  two  hundred 
and  twenty  of  them  on  Papeete  Beach.  And  I  was 
thinking  I  wished  1  had  a  ring  to  rub,  or  had  a  fairy 
godmother,  or  could  raise  Beelzebub.  And  I  was  try- 
ing to  remember  how  you  did  it.  I  knew  you  made  a 
ring  of  skulls,  for  I  had  seen  that  in  the  *  Freischutz ' ; 
and  that  you  took  off  your  coat  and  turned  up  your 
sleeves,  for  I  had  seen  Formes  do  that  when  he  was 
playing  Kaspar,  and  you  could  see,  by  the  way  he  went 
about  it,  it  was  a  business  he  had  studied;  and  that  you 
ought  to  have  something  to  kick  up  a  smoke  and  a  bad 

231 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

smell, —  I  daresay  a  cigar  might  do, —  and  that  you 
ought  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  backward.  Well,  I 
wondered  if  I  could  do  that;  it  seemed  rather  a  feat, 
you  see.  And  then  1  wondered  if  I  could  say  it  forward, 
and  I  thought  I  did.  Well,  no  sooner  had  I  got  to 
*  world  without  end  '  than  I  saw  an  old  man  in  a  pariu, 
and  with  a  mat  under  his  arm,  come  along  the  beach 
from  the  town.  He  was  rather  a  hard-favoured  old 
party,  and  he  limped  and  crippled,  and  all  the  time  he 
kept  coughing.  At  first  I  didn't  cotton  to  his  looks,  I 
thought,  and  then  I  got  sorry  for  the  old  soul  because 
he  coughed  so  hard.  I  remembered  we  had  some  of 
that  cough  mixture  the  American  consul  gave  the  cap- 
tain for  Hay.  It  never  did  Hay  a  ha'p'orth  of  service, 
but  I  thought  it  might  do  the  old  gentleman's  business 
for  him,  and  stood  up. — 'Yoranal '  said  I. — 'Yorana! ' 
says  he. — 'Look  here,'  I  said,  'I've  got  some  first-rate 
stuflT  in  a  bottle;  it'll  fix  your  cough, —  savvy  ?  Harry 
my,^  and  I'll  measure  you  out  a  tablespoonful  in  the  palm 
of  my  hand,  for  all  our  plate  is  at  the  banker's.'  So  I 
thought  the  old  party  came  up,  and  the  nearer  he  came 
the  less  I  took  to  him.  But  I  had  passed  my  word,  you 
see." 

*'  Wot  is  this  bloomin'  drivel  ?  "  interrupted  the  clerk. 
**  It's  like  the  rot  there  is  in  tracts." 

**It's  a  story.  I  used  to  tell  them  to  the  kids  at 
home,"  said  Herrick.     "If  it  bores  you,  I'll  drop  it." 

"Oh,  cut  along!"  returned  the  sick  man  irritably. 
"It's  better  than  nothing." 

"Well,"  continued  Herrick,  "I  had  no  sooner  given 
him  the  cough  mixture  than  he  seemed  to  straighten  up 

1  Come  here. 
232 


NIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH 

and  change,  and  I  saw  he  wasn't  a  Tahitian  after  all, 
but  some  kind  of  an  Arab,  and  had  a  long  beard  on  his 
chin.  *One  good  turn  deserves  another,'  says  he.  M 
am  a  magician  out  of  the  Arabian  Nights,  and  this  mat 
that  I  have  under  my  arm  is  the  original  carpet  of  Mo- 
hammed Ben  Somebody-or-other.  Say  the  word  and 
you  can  have  a  cruise  upon  the  carpet'  *You  don't 
mean  to  say  this  is  the  Travelling  Carpet?'  I  cried. 
*  You  bet  I  do,'  said  he.  *  You've  been  to  America  since 
last  I  read  the  Arabian  Nights,'  said  I,  a  little  suspicious. 
*I  should  think  so,'  said  he.  *  Been  everywhere.  A 
man  with  a  carpet  like  this  isn't  going  to  moulder  in  a 
semi-detached  villa.'  Well,  that  struck  me  as  reason- 
able. *  All  right,'  I  said,  'and  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
I  can  get  on  that  carpet  and  go  straight  to  London, 
England  ?*  I  said,  *  London,  England,'  captain,  because 
he  seemed  to  have  been  so  long  in  your  part  of  the 
world.  *  In  the  crack  of  a  whip,'  said  he.  I  figured  up 
the  time.  What  is  the  difference  between  Papeete  and 
London,  captain  ?  " 

**  Taking  Greenwich  and  Point  Venus,  nine  hours, 
odd  minutes  and  seconds,"  replied  the  mariner. 

**  Well,  that's  about  what  I  made  it,"  resumed  Her- 
rick;  "about  nine  hours.  Calling  this  three  in  the 
morning,  I  made  out  I  would  drop  into  London  about 
noon,  and  the  idea  tickled  me  immensely.  'There's 
only  one  bother,'  I  said,  *I  haven't  a  copper  cent.  It 
would  be  a  pity  to  go  to  London  and  not  buy  the  morn- 
ing Standard. '  '  Oh ! '  said  he,  '  you  don't  realise  the 
conveniences  of  this  carpet.  You  see  this  pocket.^ 
You've  only  got  to  stick  your  hand  in,  and  you  pull  it 
out  filled  with  sovereigns.'  " 

233 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

"Double-eagles,  wasn't  it?"  inquired  the  captain. 

*  *  That  was  what  it  was ! "  cried  Herrick.  '  *  I  thought 
they  seemed  unusually  big,  and  I  remember  now  I  had 
to  go  to  the  money  changers  at  Charing  Cross  and  get 
English  silver." 

**0h,  you  went  then.?"  said  the  clerk.  *'Wot  did 
you  do  ?    Bet  you  had  a  B.  and  S. ! " 

**  Well,  you  see,  it  was  just  as  the  old  boy  said,  like 
the  cut  of  a  whip,"  said  Herrick.  *'The  one  minute  I 
was  here  on  the  beach  at  three  in  the  morning,  the  next 
I  was  in  front  of  the  Golden  Cross  at  midday.  At  first 
I  was  dazzled,  and  covered  my  eyes,  and  there  didn't 
seem  the  smallest  change;  the  roar  of  the  Strand  and 
the  roar  of  the  reef  were  like  the  same;  hark  to  it  now, 
and  you  can  hear  the  cabs  and  the  'busses  rolling  and 
the  streets  resound!  And  then  at  last  I  would  look 
about,  and  there  was  the  old  place  and  no  mistake,  with 
the  statues  in  the  square,  and  St.  Martin*s-in-the-Fields, 
and  the  bobbies,  and  the  sparrows,  and  the  hacks;  and 
I  can't  tell  you  what  I  felt  like.  I  felt  like  crying,  I  be- 
lieve, or  dancing,  or  jumping  clean  over  the  Nelson  col- 
umn. I  was  like  a  fellow  caught  up  out  of  hell  and 
flung  down  into  the  dandiest  part  of  heaven.  Then  I 
spotted  for  a  hansom  with  a  spanking  horse.  '  A  shil- 
ling for  yourself  if  you're  there  in  twenty  minutes,* 
said  I  to  the  jarvey.  He  went  a  good  pace,  though,  of 
course,  it  was  a  trifle  to  the  carpet;  and  in  nineteen 
minutes  and  a  half  I  was  at  the  door." 

*'  What  door  ?  "  asked  the  captain. 

**0h,  a  house  I  know  of,"  returned  Herrick. 

**Bet  it  was  a  public  house!"  cried  the  clerk  — 
only  these  were  not  his  words.      *'And  w'y  didn't 

234 


NIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH 

you  take  the  carpet  there  instead  of  trundling  in  a 
growler  ?  " 

"  1  didn't  want  to  startle  a  quiet  street,"  said  the  nar- 
rator.    **Bad  form.     And  besides,  it  was  a  hansom." 

''Well,  and  what  did  you  do  next.^"  inquired  the 
captain. 

"Oh,  I  went  in,"  said  Herrick. 

"The  old  folks  ?"  asked  the  captain. 

"That's  about  it,"  said  the  other,  chewing  a  grass. 

"Well,  I  think  you  are  about  the  poorest  'and  at  a 
yarn!"  cried  the  clerk.  "Crikey,  it's  like  'Ministering 
Children.'  I  can  tell  you  there  would  be  more  beer  and 
skittles  about  my  little  jaunt.  I  would  go  and  have  a 
B.  and  S.  for  luck.  Then  I  would  get  a  big  ulster  with 
astrakhan  fur,  and  take  my  cane,  and  do  the  la-de-da 
down  Piccadilly.  Then  I  would  go  to  a  slap-up  res- 
taurant, and  have  green  peas  and  a  bottle  of  fizz  and  a 
chump  chop  —  Oh!  and  1  forgot,  I'd  'ave  some  devilled 
w'itebait  first,  and  green  gooseberry  tart,  and  'ot  coffee, 
and  some  of  that  form  of  vice  in  big  bottles  with  a  seal 
—  Benedictine  —  that's  the  bloomin'  nyme!  Then  I'd 
drop  into  a  theatre,  and  pal  on  with  some  chappies,  and 
do  the  dancing-rooms  and  bars  and  that,  and  wouldn't 
go  'ome  till  morning,  till  d'ylight  doth  appear.  And  the 
next  d'y  I'd  'ave  water-creases,  'am,  muffin,  and  fresh 
butter;  wouldn't  I  just ?    Oh,  my!" 

The  clerk  was  interrupted  by  a  fresh  attack  of 
coughing. 

"Well,  now,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  would  do,"  said  the 
captain.  "  1  would  have  none  of  your  fancy  rigs  with 
the  man  driving  from  the  mizzen  cross-trees,  but  a  plain 
fore-and-aft  hack  cab  of  the  highest  registered  tonnage. 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

First  of  all,  I  would  bring  up  at  the  market  and  get  a 
turkey  and  a  sucking  pig.  Then  I'd  go  to  a  wine  mer- 
chant's and  get  a  dozen  of  champagne  and  a  dozen  of 
some  sweet  wine,  rich  and  sticky  and  strong,  some- 
thing in  the  port  or  Madeira  line,  the  best  in  the  store. 
Then  I'd  bear  up  for  a  toy  store,  and  lay  out  twenty  dol- 
lars in  assorted  toys  for  the  piccaninnies ;  and  then  to  a 
confectioner's  and  take  in  cakes  and  pies  and  fancy 
bread,  and  that  stuff  with  the  plums  in  it;  and  then  to 
a  news  agency,  and  buy  all  the  papers  —  all  the  picture 
ones  for  the  kids,  and  all  the  story  papers  for  the  old 
girl :  about  the  Earl  discovering  himself  to  Anna  Maria, 
and  the  escape  of  the  Lady  Maude  from  the  Private  Mad- 
house; and  then  I'd  tell  the  fellow  to  drive  home." 

** There  ought  to  be  some  syrup  for  the  kids,"  sug- 
gested Herrick.     **They  like  syrup." 

•*  Yes,  syrup  for  the  kids,  red  syrup  at  that! "  said  the 
captain.  *' And  those  things  they  pull  at  and  go  pop, 
and  have  measly  poetry  inside.  And  then  I  tell  you 
we'd  have  a  Thanksgiving  Day  and  Christmas  tree  com- 
bined. Great  Scott,  but  I  would  like  to  see  the  kids! 
I  guess  they  would  light  right  out  of  the  house  when 
they  saw  daddy  driving  up.     My  little  Adar " 

The  captain  stopped  sharply. 

'*  Well,  keep  it  up,"  said  the  clerk. 

'*The  damned  thing  is,  I  don't  know  if  they  are  n't 
starving!"  cried  the  captain. 

*  *  They  can't  be  worse  off  than  we  are,  and  that's  one 
comfort,"  returned  the  clerk.  *'  I  defy  the  devil  to  make 
me  worse  off." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  devil  heard  him.  The  light  of  the 
moon  had  been  some  time  cut  off,  and  they  had  talked 

236 


NIGHT  ON  THE  BEACH 

in  darkness.  Now  there  was  heard  a  roar,  which  drew 
impetuously  nearer;  the  face  of  the  lagoon  was  seen  to 
whiten,  and,  before  they  had  staggered  to  their  feet,  a 
squall  burst  in  rain  upon  the  outcasts.  The  rage  and 
volume  of  that  avalanche,  one  must  have  lived  in  the 
tropics  to  conceive;  a  man  panted  in  its  assault  as  he 
might  pant  under  a  shower  bath ;  and  the  world  seemed 
whelmed  in  night  and  water. 

They  fled,  groping  for  their  usual  shelter  —  it  might 
be  almost  called  their  home  —  in  the  old  calaboose ;  came 
drenched  into  its  empty  chambers,  and  lay  down,  three 
sops  of  humanity,  on  the  cold  coral  floors.  And  pres- 
ently, when  the  squall  was  overpassed,  the  others  could 
hear  in  the  darkness  the  chattering  of  the  clerk's  teeth. 

**I  say,  you  fellows,"  he  wailed,  "for  God's  sake  lie 
up  and  try  to  warm  me.  I'm  blymed  if  I  don't  think 
I'll  die  else!" 

So  the  three  crept  together  into  one  wet  mass,  and 
lay  until  day  came,  shivering  and  dozing  off,  and  contin- 
ually reawakened  to  wretchedness  by  the  coughing  of 
the  clerk. 


237 


CHAPTER  II 

MORNING  ON  THE  BEACH. —  THE   THREE   LETTERS 

The  clouds  were  all  fled,  the  beauty  of  the  tropic  day 
was  spread  upon  Papeete;  and  the  wall  of  breaking 
seas  upon  the  reef,  and  the  palms  upon  the  islet,  already 
trembled  in  the  heat.  A  French  man-of-war  was  going 
out  that  morning,  homeward  bound ;  she  lay  in  the  mid- 
dle distance  of  the  port,  an  ant-heap  for  activity.  In  the 
night  a  schooner  had  come  in,  and  now  lay  far  out,  hard 
by  the  passage ;  and  the  yellow  flag,  the  emblem  of  pes- 
tilence, flew  on  her.  From  up  the  coast  a  long  proces- 
sion of  canoes  headed  round  the  point  and  toward  the 
market,  bright  as  a  scarf  with  the  many-coloured  cloth- 
ing of  the  natives  and  the  piles  of  fruit.  But  not  even 
the  beauty  and  the  welcome  warmth  of  the  morning, 
not  even  these  naval  movements,  so  interesting  to  sail- 
ors and  to  idlers,  could  engage  the  attention  of  the  out- 
casts. They  were  still  cold  at  heart,  their  mouths  sour 
from  the  want  of  sleep,  their  steps  rambling  from  the 
lack  of  food;  and  they  strung  like  lame  geese  along  the 
beach  in  a  disheartened  silence.  It  was  towards  the 
town  they  moved;  towards  the  town  whence  smoke 
arose,  where  happier  folk  were  breakfasting;  and  as 
they  went,  their  hungry  eyes  were  upon  all  sides,  but 
they  were  only  scouting  for  a  meal. 

238 


MORNING  ON  THE   BEACH 

A  small  and  dingy  schooner  lay  snug  against  the  quay, 
with  which  it  was  connected  by  a  plank.  On  the  for- 
ward deck,  under  a  spot  of  awning,  five  Kanakas,  who 
made  up  the  crew,  were  squatted  round  a  basin  of  fried 
feis  1  and  drinking  coffee  from  tin  mugs. 

"Eight  bells;  knock  off  for  breakfast!"  cried  the 
captain  with  a  miserable  heartiness.  "Never  tried  this 
craft  before;  positively  my  first  appearance;  guess  I'll 
draw  a  bumper  house." 

He  came  close  up  to  where  the  plank  rested  on  the 
grassy  quay,  turned  his  back  upon  the  schooner,  and 
began  to  whistle  that  lively  air,  "The  Irish  Washer- 
woman." It  caught  the  ears  of  the  Kanaka  seamen  like 
a  preconcerted  signal.  With  one  accord  they  looked 
up  from  their  meal  and  crowded  to  the  ship's  side,  fei 
in  hand,  and  munching  as  they  looked.  Even  as  a  poor 
brown  Pyrenean  bear  dances  in  the  streets  of  English 
towns  under  his  master's  baton,  even  so,  but  with  how 
much  more  of  spirit  and  precision,  the  captain  footed  it 
in  time  to  his  own  whistling,  and  his  long  morning 
shadow  capered  beyond  him  on  the  grass.  The  Ka- 
nakas smiled  on  the  performance;  Herrick  looked  on 
heavy-eyed,  hunger  for  the  moment  conquering  all 
sense  of  shame ;  and  a  little  farther  off,  but  still  hard  by, 
the  clerk  was  torn  by  the  seven  devils  of  the  influenza. 

The  captain  stopped  suddenly,  appeared  to  perceive 
his  audience  for  the  first  time,  and  represented  the  part 
of  a  man  surprised  in  a  private  hour  of  pleasure. 

"Hello!"  said  he. 

The  Kanakas  clapped  hands  and  called  upon  him  to 
go  on. 

1  Fei  is  the  hill  banana. 
239 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

**No,  sir!''  said  the  captain.  '*No  eat,  no  dance. 
Savvy  ?  " 

'*  Poor  old  man ! "  returned  one  of  the  crew.  **  Him 
no  eat  ?  " 

'*  Lord,  no! "  said  the  captain.  ''  Like-um  too  much 
eat.    No  got." 

**  All  right.  Me  got,"  said  the  sailor.  **You  tome 
here.  Plenty  toffee,  plenty /^^.  Nutha  man  him  tome 
too." 

*'I  guess  we'll  drop  right  in,"  observed  the  captain; 
and  he  and  his  companions  hastened  up  the  plank. 
They  were  welcomed  on  board  with  the  shaking  of 
hands ;  place  was  made  for  them  about  the  basin ;  a 
sticky  demijohn  of  molasses  was  added  to  the  feast  in 
honor  of  company,  and  an  accordion  brought  from  the 
forecastle,  and  significantly  laid  by  the  performer's 
side. 

"Ariana/''^  said  he,  lightly  touching  the  instrument 
as  he  spoke ;  and  he  fell  to  on  a  long  savory /(?/^  made  an 
end  of  it,  raised  his  mug  of  coffee,  and  nodded  across  at 
the  spokesman  of  the  crew.  *' Here's  your  health,  old 
man.    You're  a  credit  to  the  South  Pacific,"  said  he. 

With  the  unsightly  greed  of  hounds  they  glutted 
themselves  with  the  hot  food  and  coffee;  and  even  the 
clerk  revived  and  the  colour  deepened  in  his  eyes.  The 
kettle  was  drained,  the  basin  cleaned ;  their  entertainers, 
who  had  waited  on  their  wants  throughout  with  the 
pleased  hospitality  of  Polynesians,  made  haste  to  bring 
forward  a  dessert  of  island  tobacco  and  rolls  of  pandanus 
leaf  to  serve  as  paper,  and  presently  all  sat  about  the 
dishes,  puffing  like  Indian  sachems. 

^  By  and  by. 
240 


MORNING   ON   THE   BEACH 

*'  When  a  man  'as  breakfast  every  day,  he  don't  know 
wot  it  is,"  observed  the  clerk. 

"The  next  point  is  dinner,"  said  Herrick;  and  then 
with  a  passionate  utterance:  "I  wish  to  God  I  was  a 
Kanaka! " 

''There's  one  thing  sure,"  said  the  captain.  "I'm 
about  desperate.  I'd  rather  hang  than  rot  here  much 
longer."  And  with  the  word  he  took  the  accordion  and 
struck  up  "Home,  Sweet  Home." 

' '  Oh,  drop  that ! "  cried  Herrick.    ' '  I  can't  stand  that. " 

"No  more  can  1,"  said  the  captain.  "I've  got  to 
play  something,  though;  got  to  pay  the  shot,  my  son." 
And  he  struck  up  "John  Brown's  Body"  in  a  fine,  sweet 
baritone;  "Dandy  Jim  of  Carolina"  came  next;  "Rosin 
the  Bow, "  "  Swing  low,  sweet  chariot, "  and  '  *  The  Beau- 
tiful Land"  followed.  The  captain  was  paying  his  shot 
with  usury,  as  he  had  done  many  a  time  before;  many 
a  meal  had  he  bought  with  the  same  currency  from  the 
melodious-minded  natives,  always,  as  now,  to  their 
delight. 

He  was  in  the  middle  of  "  Fifteen  dollars  in  the  inside 
pocket,"  singing  with  dogged  energy,  for  the  task  went 
sore  against  the  grain,  when  a  sensation  was  suddenly 
to  be  observed  among  the  crew. 

"Tapena  Tom  barry  my/''^  said  the  spokesman, 
pointing. 

And  the  three  beach-combers,  following  his  indica- 
tion, saw  the  figure  of  a  man  in  pyjama  trousers  and  a 
white  jumper  approaching  briskly  from  the  town. 

"That's  Tapena  Tom,  is  it.?"  said  the  captain,  paus- 
ing in  his  music.     "  I  don't  seem  to  place  the  brute." 
1  Captain  Tom  is  coming. 

2A\ 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

**  We'd  better  cut,"  said  the  clerk.     "'E's  no  good." 

''Well,"  said  the  musician  deliberately,  ''one  can't 
most  always  generally  tell.  I'll  try  it  on,  I  guess.  Mu- 
sic has  charms  to  soothe  the  savage  tapena,  boys.  We 
might  strike  it  rich ;  it  might  amount  to  iced  punch  in 
the  cabin." 

"Hiced  punch.?  Oh,  my!  "said  the  clerk.  "Give 
him  something  'ot,  captain.  '  Way  down  the  Swanee 
River;'  try  that." 

"No,  sir!  Looks  Scotch,"  said  the  captain;  and  he 
struck,  for  his  life,  into  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 

Captain  Tom  continued  to  approach  with  the  same 
business-like  alacrity ;  no  change  was  to  be  perceived  in 
his  bearded  face  as  he  came  swinging  up  the  plank;  he 
did  not  even  turn  his  eyes  on  the  performer. 

"  We  twa  hae  paidled  in  the  burn 
Frae  morning  tide  till  dine," 

went  the  song. 

Captain  Tom  had  a  parcel  under  his  arm,  which  he 
laid  on  the  house-roof,  and  then,  turning  suddenly  to 
the  strangers,  "  Here,  you!  "  he  bellowed,  "  be  off  out 
of  that!" 

The  clerk  and  Herrick  stood  not  on  the  order  of  their 
going,  but  fled  incontinently  by  the  plank.  The  per- 
former, on  the  other  hand,  flung  down  the  instrument 
and  rose  to  his  full  height  slowly. 

"  What's  that  you  say  }  "  he  said.  "  I've  half  a  mind 
to  give  you  a  lesson  in  civility." 

"  You  set  up  any  more  of  your  gab  to  me,"  returned 
the  Scotchman,  "and  I'll  show  ye  the  wroang  side  of 
ajyle.     I've  heard  tell  of  the  three  of  ye.     Ye're  not 

242 


MORNING   ON   THE   BEACH 

long  for  here,  I  can  tell  ye  that.  The  Goavernment  has 
their  eyes  upon  ye.  They  make  shoart  work  of  damned 
beach-combers,  I'll  say  that  for  the  French." 

"  You  wait  till  I  catch  you  off  your  ship! "  cried  the 
captain;  and  then  turning  to  the  crew,  " Good-by,  you 
fellows ! "  he  said.  *'  You're  gentlemen,  anyway !  The 
worst  nigger  among  you  would  look  better  upon  a  quar- 
ter-deck than  that  filthy  Scotchman." 

Captain  Tom  scorned  to  reply.  He  watched  with  a 
hard  smile  the  departure  of  his  guests,  and  as  soon  as 
the  last  foot  was  off  the  plank,  turned  to  the  hands  to 
work  cargo. 

The  beach-combers  beat  their  inglorious  retreat  along 
the  shore ;  Herrick  first,  his  face  dark  with  blood,  his 
knees  trembling  under  him  with  the  hysteria  of  rage. 
Presently,  under  the  same  purao  where  they  had  shiv- 
ered the  night  before,  he  cast  himself  down,  and 
groaned  aloud,  and  ground  his  face  into  the  sand. 

'* Don't  speak  to  me!  don't  speak  to  me.  I  can't 
stand  it! "  broke  from  him. 

The  other  two  stood  over  him,  perplexed. 

"Wot  can't  he  stand  now  }  "  said  the  clerk.  "  'Asn't 
he  'ad  a  meal  ?    I'm  lickin'  my  lips." 

Herrick  reared  up  his  wild  eyes  and  burning  face. 
**I  can't  beg,"  he  screamed,  and  again  threw  himself 
prone. 

*'This  thing's  got  to  come  to  an  end,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, with  an  intake  of  the  breath. 

"Looks  like  signs  of  an  end,  don't  it.^"  sneered  the 
clerk. 

"  He's  not  so  far  from  it,  and  don't  you  deceive  your- 
self," replied  the  captain.     "Well,"  he  added  in  a  live- 

243 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

Her  voice,  **you  fellows  hang  on  here,  and  Til  go  and 
interview  my  representative." 

Whereupon  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  set  off  at  a 
swinging  sailor's  walk  towards  Papeete. 

It  was  some  half-hour  later  when  he  returned.  The 
clerk  was  dozing  with  his  back  against  a  tree ;  Herrick 
still  lay  where  he  had  flung  himself;  nothing  showed 
whether  he  slept  or  waked. 

**See,  boys!"  cried  the  captain,  with  that  artificial 
heartiness  of  his  which  was  at  times  so  painful,  "  here's 
a  new  idea."  And  he  produced  note-paper,  stamped 
envelopes,  and  pencils,  three  of  each.  *'We  can  all 
write  home  by  the  mail  brigantine.  The  consul  says  I 
can  come  over  to  his  place  and  ink  up  the  addresses." 

''Well,  that's  a  start,  too,"  said  the  clerk.  '*  I  never 
thought  of  that." 

*Mt  was  that  yarning  last  night  about  going  home 
that  put  me  up  to  it,"  said  the  captain. 

''  Well,  'and  over,"  said  the  clerk.  "I'll  have  a  shy." 
And  he  retired  a  little  distance  to  the  shade  of  a  canoe. 

The  others  remained  under  the  purao.  Now  they 
would  write  a  word  or  two,  now  scribble  it  out;  now 
they  would  sit  biting  at  the  pencil-end  and  staring  sea- 
ward ;  now  their  eyes  would  rest  on  the  clerk  where  he 
sat  propped  on  the  canoe,  leering  and  coughing,  his 
pencil  racing  glibly  on  the  paper. 

"I  can't  do  it,"  said  Herrick,  suddenly.  *'I  haven't 
got  the  heart." 

*'  See  here,"  said  the  captain,  speaking  with  unwonted 
gravity.  '*  It  may  be  hard  to  write,  and  to  write  lies  at 
that,  and  God  knows  it  is ;  but  it's  the  square  thing.  It 
don't  cost  anything  to  say  you're  well  and  happy,  and 

244 


MORNING   ON   THE   BEACH 

sorry  you  can't  make  a  remittance  this  mail ;  and  if  you 
don't,  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  it  is, —  I  think  it's  about 
the  high-water  mark  of  being  a  brute  beast." 

"It's  easy  to  talk,"  said  Herrick.  **  You  don't  seem 
to  have  written  much  yourself,  I  notice." 

"What  do  you  bring  in  me  for.?^"  broke  from  the 
captain.  His  voice  was  indeed  scarce  raised  above  a 
whisper,  but  emotion  clanged  in  it.  "What  do  you 
know  about  me  ?  If  you  had  commanded  the  finest 
barque  that  ever  sailed  from  Portland,  Maine;  if  you  had 
been  drunk  in  your  berth  when  she  struck  the  breakers 
in  Fourteen  Island  Group,  and  hadn't  had  the  wit  to 
stay  there  and  drown,  but  come  on  deck,  and  given 
drunken  orders,  and  lost  six  lives, —  I  could  understand 
your  talking  then !  There, "  he  said  more  quietly,  * '  that's 
my  yarn,  and  now  you  know  it.  It's  a  pretty  one  for 
the  father  of  a  family.  Five  men  and  a  woman  mur- 
dered. Yes,  there  was  a  woman  on  board,  and  hadn't 
no  business  to  be  either.  Guess  I  sent  her  to  hell,  if 
there  is  such  a  place.  I  never  dared  go  home  again; 
and  the  wife  and  the  little  ones  went  to  England  to  her 
father's  place.  I  don't  know  what's  come  to  them,"  he 
added,  with  a  bitter  shrug. 

"Thank  you,  Captain,"  said  Herrick.  "I  never  liked 
you  better." 

They  shook  hands,  short  and  hard,  with  eyes  averted, 
tenderness  swelling  in  their  bosoms. 

"Now,  boys!  to  work  again  at  lying!  "  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

"I'll  give  my  father  up,"  returned  Herrick,  with  a 
writhen  smile.  "I'll  try  my  sweetheart,  instead,  for  a 
change  of  evils." 

245 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

And  here  is  what  he  wrote : — 

"Emma, — I  have  scratched  out  the  beginning  to  my  father,  for  I 
think  I  can  write  more  easily  to  you.  This  is  my  last  farewell  to  all; 
the  last  you  will  ever  hear  or  see  of  an  unworthy  friend  and  son.  1 
have  failed  in  life.  I  am  quite  broken  down  and  disgraced.  I  pass 
under  a  false  name.  You  will  have  to  tell  my  father  that,  with  all  your 
kindness.  It  is  my  own  fault.  I  know,  had  I  chosen,  that  I  might 
have  done  well;  and  yet,  I  swear  to  you,  I  tried  to  choose.  I  could  not 
bear  that  you  should  think  I  did  not  try.  For  I  loved  you  all ;  you 
must  never  doubt  me  in  that,  you  least  of  all.  I  have  always  unceas- 
ingly loved;  but  what  was  my  love  worth,  and  what  was  I  worth  ?  I 
had  not  the  manhood  of  a  common  clerk.  I  could  not  work  to  earn 
you.  I  have  lost  you  now,  and  for  your  sake  I  could  be  glad  of  it. 
When  you  first  came  to  my  father's  house  —  do  you  remember  those 
days  ?  I  want  you  to  —  you  saw  the  best  of  me  then,  all  that  was 
good  in  me.  Do  you  remember  the  day  I  took  your  hand  and  would 
not  let  it  go  ?  And  the  day  on  Battersea  Bridge,  when  we  were  look- 
ing at  a  barge,  and  I  began  to  tell  one  of  my  silly  stories,  and  broke  off 
to  say  1  loved  you  ?  That  was  the  beginning,  and  now  here  is  the  end. 
When  you  have  read  this  letter,  you  will  go  round  and  kiss  them  allgood- 
by — my  father  and  mother,  and  the  children,  one  by  one,  and  poor  uncle; 
and  tell  them  all  to  forget  me,  and  forget  me  yourself.  Turn  the  key 
in  the  door;  let  no  thought  of  me  return;  be  done  with  the  poor  ghost 
that  pretended  he  was  a  man  and  stole  your  love.  Scorn  of  myself 
grinds  in  me  as  I  write.  I  should  tell  you  I  am  well  and  happy  and 
want  for  nothing.  I  do  not  exactly  make  money,  or  I  should  send  a 
remittance;  but  I  am  well  cared  for,  have  friends,  live  in  a  beautiful 
place  and  climate,  such  as  we  have  dreamed  of  together,  and  no  pity 
need  be  wasted  on  me.  In  such  places,  you  understand,  it  is  easy  to 
live,  and  live  well,  but  often  hard  to  make  sixpence  in  money.  Explain 
this  to  my  father;  he  will  understand.  I  have  no  more  to  say;  only 
linger,  going  out,  like  an  unwilling  guest.  God  in  heaven  bless  you! 
Think  of  me,  at  the  last,  here,  on  a  bright  beach,  the  sky  and  sea  im- 
moderately blue,  and  the  great  breakers  roaring  outside  on  a  barrier- 
reef,  where  a  little  isle  sits  green  with  palms.  I  am  well  and  strong. 
It  is  a  more  pleasant  way  to  die  than  if  you  were  crowding  about  me 
on  a  sick-bed.     And  yet  I  am  dying.     This  is  my  last  kiss.     Forgive, 

forget,  the  unworthy." 

246 


MORNING  ON  THE  BEACH 

So  far  he  had  written ;  his  paper  was  all  filled,  when 
there  returned  a  memory  of  evenings  at  the  piano,  and 
that  song,  the  masterpiece  of  love,  in  which  so  many 
have  found  the  expression  of  their  dearest  thoughts: 
Einst,  O  IVunder!  he  added.  More  was  not  required ; 
he  knew  that,  in  his  love's  heart,  the  context  would 
spring  up,  escorted  with  fair  images  and  harmony;  of 
how  all  through  life  her  name  should  tremble  in  his 
ears,  her  name  be  everywhere  repeated  in  the  sounds 
of  nature ;  and  when  death  came  and  he  lay  dissolved, 
her  memory  linger  and  thrill  among  his  elements. 

**  Once,  O  wonder!  once  from  the  ashes  of  my  heart 
Arose  a  blossom " 

Herrick  and  the  captain  finished  their  letters  about 
the  same  time;  each  was  breathing  deep,  and  their  eyes 
met  and  were  averted  as  they  closed  the  envelopes. 

"Sorry  I  write  so  big,"  said  the  captain,  gruffly. 
**Came  all  of  a  rush,  when  it  did  come." 

**Same  here,"  said  Herrick.  **I  could  have  done 
with  a  ream  when  I  got  started ;  but  it's  long  enough 
for  all  the  good  1  had  to  say." 

They  were  still  at  the  addresses  when  the  clerk 
strolled  up,  smirking,  and  twirling  his  envelope,  like 
a  man  well  pleased.    He  looked  over  Herrick's  shoulder. 

'*  Hullo,"  he  said,  ''you  ain't  writing  'ome." 

"I  am,  though,"  said  Herrick.  "She  lives  with  my 
father.  Oh,  I  see  what  you  mean,"  he  added.  "My 
real  name  is  Herrick.  No  more  Hay" — they  had  both 
used  the  same  alia& — "no  more  Hay  than  yours,  I  dare 
say." 

"Clean  bowled  in  the  middle  stump,"  laughed  the 
247 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

clerk.  **My  name's  'Uish,  if  you  want  to  know. 
Everybody  has  a  false  nyme  in  the  Pacific.  Lay  you 
five  to  three  the  captain  'as." 

** So  I  have,  too,"  replied  the  captain,  "and  I've  never 
told  my  own  since  the  day  I  tore  the  title-page  out  of 
my  Bowditch  and  flung  the  damned  thing  into  the  sea. 
But  I'll  tell  it  to  you,  boys.  John  Davis  is  my  name. 
I'm  Davis  of  the  Sea  Ranger.'' 

"  Dooce  you  are! "  said  Huish.  **  And  what  was  she, 
a  pirate  or  a  sly ver  ?  " 

'*  She  was  the  fastest  barque  out  of  Portland,  Maine,'* 
replied  the  captain;  ''and  for  the  way  1  lost  her,  I  might 
as  well  have  bored  a  hole  in  her  side  with  an  auger." 

''Oh,  you  lost  her,  did  you  ?"  said  the  clerk.  '"Ope 
she  was  insured." 

No  answer  being  returned  to  this  sally,  Huish,  still 
brimming  over  with  vanity  and  conversation,  struck 
into  another  subject. 

"I've  a  good  mind  to  read  you  my  letter,"  said  he. 
"  I've  a  good  fist  with  a  pen  when  I  choose,  and  this  is 
a  prime  lark.  She  was  a  barmaid  I  ran  across  in  North- 
ampton ;  she  was  a  spanking  fine  piece,  no  end  of  style; 
and  we  cottoned  at  first  sight  like  parties  in  the  play.  I 
suppose  1  spent  the  chynge  of  a  fiver  on  that  girl.  Well, 
I  'appened  to  remember  her  nyme,  so  I  wrote  to  her,  and 
told  her  'ow  1  had  got  rich,  and  married  a  queen  in  the 
Hislands,  and  lived  in  a  blooming  palace.  Such  a  sight 
of  crammers !  I  must  read  you  one  bit  about  my  opening 
the  nigger  parliament  in  a  cocked  'at.    It's  really  prime." 

The  captain  jumped  to  his  feet.  "Thafs  what  you 
did  with  the  paper  that  I  went  and  begged  for  you  ?"  he 
roared. 

248 


MORNING  ON  THE  BEACH 

It  was  perhaps  lucky  for  Huish  —  it  was  surely  in  the 
end  unfortunate  for  all  —  that  he  was  seized  just  then 
by  one  of  his  prostrating  accesses  of  cough ;  his  com- 
rades would  have  else  deserted  him,  so  bitter  was  their 
resentment.  When  the  fit  had  passed,  the  clerk  reached 
out  his  hand,  picked  up  the  letter,  which  had  fallen  to 
the  earth,  and  tore  it  into  fragments,  stamp  and  all. 

**  Does  that  satisfy  you  ?"  he  asked  sullenly. 

"We'll  say  no  more  about  it,"  replied  Davis. 


249 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  OLD  CALABOOSE.— DESTINY   AT  THE   DOOR 

The  old  calaboose,  in  which  the  waifs  had  so  long 
harboured,  was  a  low,  rectangular  enclosure  of  building, 
at  the  corner  of  a  shady  western  avenue,  and  a  little 
townward  of  the  British  Consulate.  Within  was  a 
grassy  court,  littered  with  wreckage  and  the  traces  of 
vagrant  occupation.  Six  or  seven  cells  opened  from  the 
court;  the  doors,  that  had  once  been  locked  on  mutinous 
whalermen,  rotting  before  them  in  the  grass.  No  mark 
remained  of  their  otd  destination,  except  the  rusty  bars 
upon  the  windows. 

The  floor  of  one  of  the  cells  had  been  little  cleared;  a 
bucket  (the  last  remaining  piece  of  furniture  of  the  three 
caitiffs)  stood  full  of  water  by  the  door,  a  half  cocoanut- 
shell  beside  it  for  a  drinking-cup ;  and  on  some  ragged 
ends  of  mat  Huish  sprawled  asleep,  his  mouth  open,  his 
face  deathly.  The  glow  of  the  tropic  afternoon,  the 
green  of  sun-bright  foliage,  stared  into  that  shady  place 
through  door  and  window;  and  Herrick,  pacing  to  and 
fro  on  the  coral  floor,  sometimes  paused,  and  laved  his 
face  and  neck  with  tepid  water  from  the  bucket.  His 
long  arrears  of  suffering,  the  night's  vigil,  the  insults  of 
the  morning,  and  the  harrowing  business  of  the  letter, 
had  strung  him  to  that  point  when  pain  is  almost  plea- 

250 


THE  OLD   CALABOOSE 

sure,  time  shrinks  to  a  mere  point,  and  death  and  life 
appear  indifferent.  To  and  fro  he  paced  like  a  caged 
brute,  his  mind  whirling  through  the  universe  of  thought 
and  memory;  his  eyes,  as  he  went,  skimming  the  le- 
gends on  the  wall.  The  crumbling  whitewash  was  all 
full  of  them, — Tahitian  names,  and  French  and  English, 
and  rude  sketches  of  ships  under  sail,  and  men  at  fisti- 
cuffs. 

It  came  to  him  of  a  sudden  that  he  too  must  leave 
upon  these  walls  the  memorial  of  his  passage.  He 
paused  before  a  clean  space,  took  the  pencil  out,  and 
pondered.  Vanity,  so  hard  to  dislodge,  awoke  in  him. 
We  call  it  vanity,  at  least;  perhaps  unjustly.  Rather  it 
was  the  bare  sense  of  his  existence  prompted  him ;  the 
sense  of  his  life,  the  one  thing  wonderful,  to  which  he 
scarce  clung  with  a  finger.  *  From  his  jarred  nerves  there 
came  a  strong  sentiment  of  coming  change;  whether 
good  or  ill,  he  could  not  say:  change, —  he  knew  no 
more;  change,  with  inscrutable,  veiled  face,  approach- 
ing noiseless.  With  the  feeling  came  the  vision  of  a 
concert-room,  the  rich  hues  of  instruments,  the  silent 
audience,  and  the  loud  voice  of  the  symphony.  **  Des- 
tiny knocking  at  the  door,"  he  thought;  drew  a  stave  on 
the  plaster,  and  wrote  in  the  famous  phrase  from  the 
Fifth  Symphony.  "  So,"  thought  he,  **  they  will  know 
that  I  loved  music  and  had  classical  tastes.  They  ?  He, 
I  suppose;  the  unknown,  kindred  spirit  that  shall  come 
some  day  and  read  my  memor  querela.  Ha !  he  shall 
have  Latin  too."  And  he  added:  "  terque  quaterque 
heatiqueh  ante  orapatrum/' 

He  turned  again  to  his  uneasy  pacing,  but  now  with 
an  irrational  and  supporting  sense  of  duty  done.     He 

251 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

had  dug  his  grave  that  morning;  now  he  had  carved  his 
epitaph;  the  folds  of  the  toga  were  composed,  why 
should  he  delay  the  insignificant  trifle  that  remained  to 
do  ?  He  paused  and  looked  long  in  the  face  of  the 
sleeping  Huish,  drinking  disenchantment  and  distaste  of 
life.  He  nauseated  himself  with  that  vile  countenance. 
Could  the  thing  continue  ?  What  bound  him  now  ? 
Had  he  no  rights  ?  Only  the  obligation  to  go  on,  with- 
out discharge  or  furlough,  bearing  the  unbearable  ?  Ich 
trage  unertrdgliches ;  the  quotation  rose  in  his  mind. 
He  repeated  the  whole  piece,  one  of  the  most  perfect 
of  the  most  perfect  of  poets;  and  a  phrase  struck  him 
like  a  blow :  Du,  stol^es  Her^,  du  hast  es  ja  gewoUt. 
Where  was  the  pride  of  his  heart  .^  And  he  raged 
against  himself,  as  a  man  bites  on  a  sore  tooth,  in  a 
heady  sensuality  of  scorn.  *'I  have  no  pride,  I  have 
no  heart,  no  manhood,"  he  thought,  *'or  why  should 
I  prolong  a  life  more  shameful  than  the  gallows  }  Or 
why  should  I  have  fallen  to  it }  No  pride,  no  capacity, 
no  force.  Not  even  a  bandit.  And  to  be  starving  here 
with  worse  th^n  banditti — with  this  trivial  hell-hound ! " 
His  rage  against  his  comrade  rose  and  flooded  him,  and 
he  shook  a  trembling  fist  at  the  sleeper. 

A  swift  step  was  audible.  The  captain  appeared 
upon  the  threshold  of  the  cell,  panting  and  flushed,  and 
with  a  foolish  face  of  happiness.  In  his  arms  he  carried 
a  loaf  of  bread  and  bottles  of  beer;  the  pockets  of  his 
coat  were  bulging  with  cigars.  He  rolled  his  treasures 
on  the  floor,  grasped  Herrick  by  both  hands,  and 
crowed  with  laughter. 

**  Broach  the  beer! "  he  shouted.  **  Broach  the  beer, 
and  glory  hallelujah! " 

252 


THE  OLD  CALABOOSE 

"  Beer  ?  "  repeated  Huish,  struggling  to  his  feet. 

"  Beer  it  is!  "  cried  Davis.  "  Beer,  and  plenty  of  it. 
Any  number  of  persons  can  use  it  (like  Lyon's  tooth 
tablet)  with  perfect  propriety  and  neatness.  Who's  to 
officiate  ?  " 

*' Leave  me  alone  for  that,"  said  the  clerk.  He 
knocked  the  necks  off  with  a  lump  of  coral,  and  each 
drank  in  succession  from  the  shell. 

'*  Have  a  weed  .?"  said  Davis.     "  It's  all  in  the  bilL" 

*' What  is  up  ?"  asked  Herrick. 

The  captain  fell  suddenly  grave.  *M'm  coming  to 
that,"  said  he.  **  I  want  to  speak  with  Herrick  here. 
You,  Hay  —  or  Huish,  or  whatever  your  name  is — you 
take  a  weed  and  the  other  bottle,  and  go  and  see  how 
the  wind  is  down  by  the  purao.  I'll  call  you  when 
you're  wanted." 

' *  Hey  ?    Secrets  ?    That  ain't  the  ticket, "  said  Huish. 

"  Look  here,  my  son,"  said  the  captain,  **  this  is  busi- 
ness, and  don't  you  make  any  mistake  about  it.  If 
you're  going  to  make  trouble,  you  can  have  it  in  your 
own  way  and  stop  right  here.  Only  get  the  thing  right ; 
if  Herrick  and  I  go,  we  take  the  beer.     Savvy  ?  " 

**0h,  I  don't  want  to  shove  my  oar  in,"  returned 
Huish.  **ril  cut  right  enough.  Give  me  the  swipes. 
You  can  jaw  till  you're  blue  in  the  face,  for  what  I  care. 
I  don't  think  it's  the  friendly  touch ;  that's  all."  And 
he  shambled,  grumbling,  out  of  the  cell  into  the  staring 
sun. 

The  captain  watched  him  clear  of  the  courtyard,  then 
turned  to  Herrick. 

''  What  is  it }  "  asked  Herrick,  thickly. 

**  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Davis.  *'  I  want  to  consult  you. 
253 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

It's  a  chance  we've  got.  What's  that  ?  "  he  cried,  point- 
ing to  the  music  on  the  wall. 

* '  What  ?  "  said  the  other.  ' '  Oh,  that !  It's  music ; 
it's  a  phrase  of  Beethoven's  I  was  writing  up.  It  means 
destiny  knocking  at  the  door." 

"  Does  it  ?  "  said  the  captain,  rather  low,  and  he  went 
near  and  studied  the  inscription;  *'and  this  French.^" 
he  asked,  pointing  to  the  Latin. 

*'  Oh,  it  just  means  I  should  have  been  luckier  if  I  had 
died  at  home,"  returned  Herrick  impatiently.  "  What 
is  this  business  ?  " 

"Destiny  knocking  at  the  door,"  repeated  the  cap- 
tain;  and  then,  looking  over  his  shoulder,  "Well,  Mr. 
Herrick,  that's  about  what  it  comes  to,"  he  added. 

'  *  What  do  you  mean  ?  Explain  yourself, "  said  Herrick. 

But  the  captain  was  again  staring  at  the  music. 
"  About  how  long  ago  since  you  wrote  up  this  truck  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  What  does  it  matter  ?  "  exclaimed  Herrick.  "  I  dare 
say  half  an  hour." 

' '  My  God,  it's  strange ! "  cried  Davis.  ' '  There's  some 
men  would  call  that  accidental;  not  me.  That — "  and 
he  drew  his  thick  finger  under  the  music — "that's  what 
I  call  providence." 

"  You  said  we  had  a  chance  ?"  asked  Herrick. 

"  Yes,  sir/  "  said  the  captain,  wheeling  suddenly  face 
to  face  with  his  companion.  "I  did  so.  If  you're  the 
man  I  take  you  for,  we  have  a  chance." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  take  me  for,"  was  the  reply. 
"You  can  scarce  take  me  too  low." 

"Shake  hands,  Mr.  Herrick,"  said  the  captain.  "I 
know  you.    You're  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  spirit.    \ 

254 


THE  OLD   CALABOOSE 

didn't  want  to  speak  befce  that  bummer  there;  you'll 
see  why.    But  to  you  I'll  rip  it  right  out.    1  got  a  ship." 
*'Aship.?"  cried  Herrick.     ''What  ship  .?" 
*'That  schooner  we  saw  this  morning  ofif  the  pas- 
sage.'* 

"The  schooner  with  the  hospital  flag ?" 
''That's  the  hooker,"  said  Davis.  "  She's  the  FaraU 
lone,  hundred  and  sixty  tons  register,  out  of  'Frisco  for 
Sydney,  in  California  champagne.  Captain,  mate,  and 
one  hand  all  died  of  small-pox,  same  as  they  had  round 
in  the  Paumotus,  I  guess.  Captain  and  mate  were  the 
only  white  men;  all  the  hands  Kanakas;  seems  a  queer 
kind  of  outfit  from  a  Christian  port.  Three  of  them  left 
and  a  cook ;  didn't  know  where  they  were ;  I  can't  think 
where  they  were  either,  if  you  come  to  that;  Wiseman 
must  have  been  upon  the  booze,  I  guess,  to  sail  the 
course  he  did.  However,  there  he  was,  dead ;  and  here 
were  the  Kanakas  as  good  as  lost.  They  bummed 
around  at  sea  like  the  babes  in  the  wood,  and  tumbled 
end-on  upon  Tahiti.  The  consul  here  took  charge.  He 
offered  the  berth  to  Williams;  Williams  had  never  had 
the  small-pox  and  backed  down.  That  was  when  I 
came  in  for  the  letter-paper.  I  thought  there  was  some- 
thing up  when  the  consul  asked  me  to  look  in  again ; 
but  I  never  let  on  to  you  fellows,  so's  you'd  not  be  dis- 
appointed. Consul  tried  M'Neil;  scared  of  small-pox. 
He  tried  Capriati,  that  Corsican,  and  Leblue,  or  what- 
ever his  name  is;  wouldn't  lay  a  hand  on  it;  all  too 
fond  of  their  sweet  lives.  Last  of  all,  when  there 
wasn't  nobody  else  left  to  offer  it  to,  he  offers  it  to 
me.  '  Brown,  will  you  ship  captain  and  take  her  to 
Sydney  ? '  says  he.     *  Let  me  choose  my  own  mate  and 

255 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

another  white  hand,'  says  I,  *for  I  don't  hold  with  this 
Kanaka  crew  racket;  give  us  all  two  months'  advance 
to  get  our  clothes  and  instruments  out  of  pawn,  and  I'll 
take  stock  to-night,  fill  up  stores,  and  get  to  sea  to-mor- 
row before  dark ! '  That's  what  I  said.  *  That's  good 
enough,'  says  the  consul;  'and  you  can  count  yourself 
damned  lucky.  Brown,'  says  he.  And  he  said  it  pretty 
meaningful-appearing,  too.  However,  that's  all  one 
now.  I'll  ship  Huish  before  the  mast, —  of  course  I'll 
let  him  berth  aft;  and  I'll  ship  you  mate  at  seventy-five 
dollars  and  two  months'  advance." 

*'  Me  mate  ?    Why,  I'm  a  landsman! "  cried  Herrick. 

''Guess  you've  got  to  learn,"  said  the  captain.  '*  You 
don't  fancy  I'm  going  to  skip  and  leave  you  rotting  on 
the  beach  perhaps  ?  I'm  not  that  sort,  old  man.  And 
you're  handy,  anyway;  I've  been  shipmates  with 
worse." 

"God  knows  I  can't  refuse,"  said  Herrick.  "God 
knows  I  thank  you  from  my  heart." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  captain.  "But  it  ain't 
all."     He  turned  aside  to  light  a  cigar. 

"What  else  is  there?"  asked  the  other,  with  a  pang 
of  indefinable  alarm. 

"I'm  coming  to  that,"  said  Davis,  and  then  paused  a 
little.  "See  here,"  he  began,  holding  out  his  cigar  be- 
tween his  finger  and  thumb,  "suppose  you  figure  up 
what  this'll  amount  to.  You  don't  catch  on  ?  Well, 
we  get  two  months'  advance;  we  can't  get  away  from 
Papeete  —  our  creditors  wouldn't  let  us  go  —  for  less. 
It'll  take  us  along  about  two  months  to  get  to  Sydney ; 
and  when  we  get  there  —  I  just  want  to  put  it  to  you 
squarely  —  what  the  better  are  we  ?  " 

256 


THE  OLD  CALABOOSE 

''We're  off  the  beach,  at  least,"  said  Herrick. 

*M  guess  there's  a  beach  at  Sydney,"  returned  the 
captain;  "and  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  Mr.  Herrick  —  1 
don't  mean  to  try.  No,  sir!  Sydne  y  will  never  see 
me." 

"Speak  out  plain,"  said  Herrick. 

"Plain  Dutch,"  replied  the  captain,  "I'm  going  to 
own  that  schooner.  It's  nothing  new ;  it's  done  every 
year  in  the  Pacific.  Stephens  stole  a  schooner  the  other 
day,  didn't  he  ?  Hayes  and  Pease  stole  vessels  all  the 
time.  And  it's  the  making  of  the  crowd  of  us.  See 
here,  you  think  of  that  cargo.  Champagne !  Why,  it's 
like  as  if  it  was  put  up  on  purpose.  In  Peru,  we'll  sell 
that  liquor  oflT  at  the  pier  head,  and  the  schooner  after 
it,  if  we  can  find  a  fool  to  buy  her,  and  then  light  out 
for  the  mines.  If  you'll  back  me  up,  I  stake  my  life 
I'll  carry  it  through." 

' '  Captain, "  said  Herrick,  with  a  quailing  voice, ' '  don't 
doit!" 

"I'm  desperate,"  returned  Davis.  "I've  got  a 
chance;  I  may  never  get  another.  Herrick,  say  the 
word;  back  me  up.  I  think  we've  starved  together 
long  enough  for  that." 

"I  can't  do  it.  I'm  sorry.  I  can't  do  it.  I've  not 
fallen  as  low  as  that,"  said  Herrick,  deadly  pale. 

"What  did  you  say  this  morning.?"  said  Davis. 
"That  you  couldn't  beg?  It's  the  one  thing  or  the 
other,  my  son." 

"Ah,  but  this  is  the  jail!"  cried  Herrick.  "Don't 
tempt  me.     It's  the  jail." 

"Did  you  hear  what  the  skipper  said  on  board  that 
schooner?"  pursued  the  captain.    "Well,  I  tell  you  he 

257 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

talked  straight.  The  French  have  let  us  alone  a  long 
time;  it  can't  last  longer.  They've  got  their  eye  on 
us,  and  as  sure  as  you  live,  in  three  w^eeks  you'll  be  in 
jail,  whatever  you  do.     1  read  it  in  the  consul's  face." 

*  *  You  forget,  captain, "  said  the  young  man.  *  *  There 
is  another  way.  I  can  die ;  and  to  say  truth,  I  think  I 
should  have  died  three  years  ago." 

The  captain  folded  his  arms  and  looked  the  other  in 
the  face.  "Yes,"  said  he,  "yes,  you  can  cut  your 
throat;  that's  a  frozen  fact.  Much  good  may  it  do 
you!     And  where  do  I  come  in.^" 

The  light  of  a  strange  excitement  came  in  Herrick's 
face.  "Both  of  us,"  said  he,  "both  of  us  together. 
It 's  not  possible  you  can  enjoy  this  business.  Come," 
and  he  reached  out  a  timid  hand,  "a  few  strokes  in  the 
lagoon  —  and  rest!" 

"I tell  you,  Herrick,  I'm  'most  tempted  to  answer 
you  the  way  the  man  does  in  the  Bible,  and  say,  *  Get 
thee  behind  me,  Satan!'"  said  the  captain.  "What! 
you  think  I  would  go  drown  myself,  and  1  got  children 
starving.?  Enjoy  it?  No,  by  God!  I  do  not  enjoy  it; 
but  it's  the  row  I've  got  to  hoe,  and  I'll  hoe  it  till  I 
drop  right  here.  I  have  three  of  them,  you  see,  two 
boys  and  the  one  girl,  Adar.  The  trouble  is  that  you 
are  not  a  parent  yourself  I  tell  you,  Herrick,  I  love 
you,"  the  man  broke  out.  "I  didn't  take  to  you  at 
first,  you  were  so  Anglified  and  tony,  but  I  love  you 
now;  it's  a  man  that  loves  you  stands  here  and  wrestles 
with  you.  I  can't  go  to  sea  with  the  bummer  alone; 
it's  not  possible.  Go  drown  yourself,  and  there  goes 
my  last  chance, —  the  last  chance  of  a  poor,  miserable 
beast  earning  a  crust  to  feed  his  family.     I  can't  do 

258 


THE  OLD   CALABOOSE 

nothing  but  sail  ships,  and  I've  no  papers.  And  here 
I  get  a  chance,  and  you  go  back  on  me!  Ah,  you've 
no  family,  and  that's  where  the  trouble  is !  " 

*M  have  indeed,"  said  Herrick. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  captain,  *'you  think  so. 
But  no  man's  got  a  family  till  he's  got  children.  It's 
only  the  kids  count.  There's  something  about  the  little 
shavers  —  I  can't  talk  of  them.  And  if  you  thought  a 
cent  about  this  father  that  I  hear  you  talk  of,  or  that 
sweetheart  you  were  writing  to  this  morning,  you 
would  feel  like  me.  You  would  say,  *  What  matter 
laws,  and  God,  and  that?  My  folks  are  hard  up  ;  I  be- 
long to  them.  I'll  get  them  bread,  or,  by  God!  I'll 
get  them  wealth,  if  I  have  to  burn  down  London  for  it.' 
That's  what  you  would  say.  And  I'll  tell  you  more : 
your  heart  is  saying  so  this  living  minute.  I  can  see  it 
in  your  face.  You're  thinking,  'Here's  poor  friend- 
ship for  the  man  I've  starved  along  of;  and  as  for  the 
girl  that  I  set  up  to  be  in  love  with,  here's  a  mighty 
limp  kind  of  a  love  that  won't  carry  me  as  far  as 
'most  any  man  would  go  for  a  demijohn  of  whisky.* 
There's  not  much  romance  to  that  love,  anyway;  it's 
not  the  kind  they  carry  on  about  in  song  books.  But 
what's  the  good  of  my  carrying  on  talking,  when  it's 
all  in  your  inside  as  plain  as  print  ?  I  put  the  question 
to  you  once  for  all.  Are  you  going  to  desert  me  in  my 
hour  of  need  —  you  know  if  I've  deserted  you  —  or  will 
you  give  me  your  hand,  and  try  a  fresh  deal,  and  go 
home  (as  like  as  not)  a  millionnaire  ?  Say  no,  and  God 
pity  me!  Say  yes,  and  I'll  make  the  little  ones  pray 
for  you  every  night  on  their  bended  knees.  *God 
;bless  Mr.  Herrick!'  that's  what  they'll  say,  one  after 

259 


THE  EBB  TIDti 

the  Other,  the  old  girl  sitting  there  holding  stakes  at  the 
foot  of  the  bed,  and  the  damned  little  innocents  —  "  He 
broke  off.  *'I  don't  often  rip  out  about  the  kids,"  he 
said,  **  but  when  I  do,  there's  something  fetches  loose." 

**  Captain,"  said  Herrick,  faintly,  **is  there  nothing 
else?" 

"I'll  prophesy  if  you  like,"  said  the  captain,  with  re- 
newed vigour.  **  Refuse  this  because  you  think  your- 
self too  honest,  and  before  a  month's  out  you'll  be  jailed 
for  a  sneak-thief.  I  give  you  the  word  fair.  I  can  see 
it,  Herrick,  if  you  can't;  you're  breaking  down.  Don't 
think,  if  you  refuse  this  chance,  that  you'll  go  on  doing 
the  evangelical;  you're  about  through  with  your  stock, 
and  before  you  know  where  you  are,  you'll  be  right 
out  on  the  other  side.  No,  it's  either  this  for  you,  or 
else  it's  Caledonia.  I  bet  you  never  were  there,  and 
saw  those  white,  shaved  men,  in  their  dust  clothes  and 
straw  hats,  prowling  around  in  gangs  in  the  lamplight 
at  Noumea;  they  look  like  wolves,  and  they  look  like 
preachers,  and  they  look  like  the  sick.  Huish  is  a  daisy 
to  the  best  of  them.  Well,  there's  your  company. 
They're  waiting  for  you,  Herrick,  and  you  got  to  go; 
and  that's  a  prophecy." 

And  as  the  man  stood  and  shook  through  his  great 
stature,  he  seemed,  indeed,  like  one  in  whom  the  spirit 
of  divination  worked  and  might  utter  oracles.  Herrick 
looked  at  him  and  looked  away;  it  seemed  not  decent 
to  spy  upon  such  agitation,  and  the  young  man's  cour- 
age sank. 

'*  You  talk  of  going  home,"  he  objected.  **  We  could 
never  do  that." 

''We  could,"  said  the  other.  ** Captain  Brown 
260 


THE  OLD  CALABOOSE 

couldn't,  nor  a  Mr.  Hay  that  shipped  mate  with  him 
couldn't.  But  what's  that  to  do  with  Captain  Davis  or 
Mr.  Herrick,  you  galoot  ?  " 

**  But  Hayes  had  these  wild  islands  where  he  used  to 
call,"  came  the  next,  fainter  objection. 

*' We  have  the  wild  islands  of  Peru,"  retorted  Davis. 
**  They  were  wild  enough  for  Stephens  no  longer  agone 
than  just  last  year.  I  guess  they'll  be  wild  enough  for 
us." 

'*And  the  crew?" 

**A11  Kanakas.  Come,  I  see  you're  right,  old  man. 
I  see  you'll  stand  by."  And  the  captain  once  more 
offered  his  hand. 

*'  Have  it  your  own  way,  then,"  said  Herrick.  **  I'll 
do  it.  A  strange  thing  for  my  father's  son.  But  I'll  do 
it.     I'll  stand  by  you,  man,  for  good  or  evil." 

*'God  bless  you !  "  cried  the  captain,  and  stood  silent. 
**  Herrick,"  he  added,  with  a  smile,  *'I  believe  I'd  have 
died  in  my  tracks  if  you'd  have  said  no." 

And  Herrick,  looking  at  the  man,  half-believed  so 
also. 

**And  now  we'll  go  break  it  to  the  bummer,"  said 
Davis. 

**I  wonder  how  he'll  take  it,"  said  Herrick. 

**  Him  ?    Jump  at  it  I "  was  the  reply. 


adi 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  YELLOW   FLAG 

The  schooner  FaraUone  lay  well  out  in  the  jaws  of 
the  pass,  where  the  terrified  pilot  had  made  haste  to 
bring  her  to  her  moorings  and  escape.  Seen  from  the 
beach,  through  the  thin  line  of  shipping,  two  objects 
stood  conspicuous  to  seaward,  —  the  little  isle,  on  the 
one  hand,  with  its  palms,  and  the  guns  and  batteries 
raised  forty  years  before  in  defence  of  Queen  Pomare's 
capital;  the  outcast  FaraUone  upon  the  other,  ban- 
ished to  the  threshold  of  the  port,  rolling  there  to  her 
scuppers,  and  flaunting  the  plague  flag  as  she  rolled. 
A  few  sea-birds  screamed  and  cried  about  the  ship,  and 
within  easy  range  a  man-of-war  guard-boat  hung  off 
and  on,  and  glittered  with  the  weapons  of  marines. 
The  exuberant  daylight  and  the  blinding  heaven  of  the 
tropics  picked  out  and  framed  the  picture. 

A  neat  boat,  manned  by  natives  in  uniform,  and 
steered  by  the  doctor  of  the  port,  put  from  shore  to- 
wards three  of  the  afternoon,  and  pulled  smartly  for  the 
schooner.  The  foresheets  were  heaped  with  sacks  of 
flour,  onions,  and  potatoes,  perched  among  which  was 
Huish,  dressed  as  a  foremast  hand;  a  heap  of  chests  and 
cases  impeded  the  action  of  the  oarsmen;  and  in  the 
stern,  by  the  left  hand  of  the  doctor,  sat  Herrick,  dressed 

262 


THE  YELLOW   FLAG 

in  a  fresh  rig  of  slops,  his  brown  beard  trimmed  to  a 
point,  a  pile  of  paper  novels  on  his  lap,  and  nursing  the 
while  between  his  feet  a  chronometer,  for  which  they 
had  exchanged  that  of  the  Farallone,  long  since  run 
down  and  the  rate  lost. 

They  passed  the  guard-boat,  exchanging  hails  with 
the  boatswain's  mate  in  charge,  and  drew  near  at  last 
to  the  forbidden  ship.  Not  a  cat  stirred ;  there  was  no 
speech  of  man;  and  the  sea  being  exceedingly  high 
outside,  and  the  reef  close  to  where  the  schooner  lay, 
the  clamour  of  the  surf  hung  round  her  like  the  sound 
of  battle. 

"'  OM  la  goelette!  "  sang  out  the  doctor,  with  his 
best  voice. 

Instantly,  from  the  house,  where  they  had  been  stow- 
ing away  stores,  first  Davis  and  then  the  ragamuffin 
swarthy  crew  made  their  appearance. 

''Hullo,  Hay,  that  you?"  said  the  captain,  leaning 
on  the  rail.  "  Tell  the  old  man  to  lay  her  alongside  as 
if  she  was  eggs.  There's  a  hell  of  a  run  of  sea  here, 
and  his  boat's  brittle." 

The  movement  of  the  schooner  was  at  that  time  more 
than  usually  violent.  Now  she  heaved  her  side  as  high 
as  a  deep-sea  steamer's,  and  showed  the  flashing  of  her 
copper;  now  she  swung  swiftly  toward  the  boat  until 
her  scuppers  gurgled. 

"I  hope  you  have  sea-legs,"  observed  the  doctor. 
"You  will  require  them." 

Indeed,  to  board  the  Farallone,  in  that  exposed  po- 
sition where  she  lay,  was  an  affair  of  some  dexterity. 
The  less  precious  goods  were  hoisted  roughly  in;  the 
chronometer,  after  repeated  failures,  was  passed  gently 

263 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

and  successfully  from  hand  to  hand,  and  there  remained 
only  the  more  difficult  business  of  embarking  Huish. 
Even  that  piece  of  dead  weight  (shipped  A.  B.  at  eigh- 
teen dollars,  and  described  by  the  captain  to  the  consul 
as  an  invaluable  man)  was  at  last  hauled  on  board  with- 
out mishap,  and  the  doctor,  with  civil  salutations,  took 
his  leave. 

The  three  co-adventurers  looked  at  each  other,  and 
Davis  heaved  a  breath  of  relief 

"Now  let's  get  this  chronometer  fixed,"  said  he,  and 
led  the  way  into  the  house.  It  was  a  fairly  spacious 
place ;  two  staterooms  and  a  good-sized  pantry  opened 
from  the  main  cabin.  The  bulk-heads  were  painted 
white,  the  floor  laid  with  wax-cloth.  No  litter,  no  sign 
of  life  remained,  for  the  effects  of  the  dead  men  had 
been  disinfected  and  conveyed  on  shore.  Only  on  the 
table,  in  a  saucer,  some  sulphur  burned,  and  the  fumes 
set  them  coughing  as  they  entered.  The  captain  peered 
into  the  starboard  stateroom,  where  the  bedclothes  still 
lay  tumbled  in  the  bunk,  the  blanket  flung  back  as  they 
had  flung  it  back  from  the  disfigured  corpse  before  its 
burial. 

**  Now  I  told  those  niggers  to  tumble  that  truck  over- 
board," grumbled  Davis.  ''Guess  they  were  afraid  to 
lay  hands  on  it.  Well,  they've  hosed  the  place  out; 
that's  as  much  as  can  be  expected,  I  suppose.  Huish, 
lay  on  to  these  blankets." 

*'  See  you  blooming  well  far  enough  first,"  said  Huish, 
drawing  back. 

''What's  that  ?  "  snapped  the  captain.  "  I'll  tell  you, 
my  young  friend,  I  think  you  make  a  mistake.  I'm 
captain  here." 

264 


THE  YELLOW   FLAG 

**Fat  lot  I  care,"  returned  the  clerk. 

' '  That  so  ?  "  said  Davis.  ' '  Then  you'll  berth  forward 
with  the  niggers!    Walk  right  out  of  this  cabin." 

"  Oh,  I  dessay !  "  said  Huish.  ''  See  any  green  in  my 
eye?    A  lark's  a  lark." 

"Well,  now,  ril  explain  this  business,  and  you'll  see 
(once  for  all)  just  precisely  how  much  lark  there  is  to 
it,"  said  Davis.  *'  I'm  captain,  and  I'm  going  to  be  it. 
One  thing  of  three.  First,  you  take  my  orders  here  as 
cabin  steward,  in  which  case  you  mess  with  us.  Or, 
second,  you  refuse,  and  I  pack  you  forward,  and  you 
get  as  quick  as  the  word's  said.  Or,  third  and  last,  I'll 
signal  that  man-of-war  and  send  you  ashore  under  ar- 
rest for  mutiny." 

* '  And  of  course  I  wouldn't  blow  the  gaff  ?  Oh,  no ! " 
replied  the  jeering  Huish. 

**And  who's  to  believe  you,  my  son?"  inquired  the 
captain.  **No  sir/  There  ain't  no  lark  about  my  cap- 
tainising.     Enough  said.     Up  with  these  blankets." 

Huish  was  no  fool, —  he  knew  when  he  was  beaten; 
and  he  was  no  coward,  either,  for  he  stepped  to  the 
bunk,  took  the  infected  bed-clothes  fairly  in  his  arms,  and 
carried  them  out  of  the  house  without  a  check  or  tremour. 

**I  was  waiting  for  the  chance,"  said  Davis  to  Her- 
rick.  "I  needn't  do  the  same  with  you,  because  you 
understand  it  for  yourself" 

**  Are  you  going  to  berth  here?"  asked  Herrick,  fol- 
lowing the  captain  into  the  stateroom,  where  he  began 
to  adjust  the  chronometer  in  its  place  at  the  bed-head. 

*'Not  much!"  replied  he.  "I  guess  I'll  berth  on 
deck.  I  don't  know  as  I'm  afraid,  but  I've  no  immedi- 
ate use  for  confluent  small-pox." 

265 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

'*I  don't  know  that  I'm  afraid  either,"  said  Herrick. 
**  But  the  thought  of  those  two  men  sticks  in  my  throat, 
—  that  captain  and  mate  dying  here,  one  opposite  to  the 
other.     It's  grim.     I  wonder  what  they  said  last!  " 

*  *  Wiseman  and  Wishart  ?  "  said  the  captain.  *  *  Prob- 
ably mighty  small  potatoes.  That's  the  thing  a  fellow 
figures  out  for  himself  one  way,  and  the  real  business 
goes  quite  another.  Perhaps  Wiseman  said,  '  Here,  old 
man,  fetch  up  the  gin;  I'm  feeling  powerful  rocky.' 
And  perhaps  Wishart  said,  'Oh,  hell!'" 

*' Well,  that's  grim  enough,"  said  Herrick. 

**And  so  it  is,"  said  Davis.  "There;  there's  that 
chronometer  fixed.  And  now  it's  about  time  to  up  an- 
chor and  clear  out." 

He  lit  a  cigar  and  stepped  on  deck. 

"Here,  you!  V/ hat's  your  name?"  he  cried  to  one 
of  the  hands,  a  lean-flanked,  clean-built  fellow  from 
some  far  Western  island,  and  of  a  darkness  almost  ap- 
proaching to  the  African. 

"Sally  Day,"  replied  the  man. 

"Devil  it  is!"  said  the  captain.  "Didn't  know  we 
had  ladies  on  board.  Well,  Sally,  oblige  me  by  haul- 
ing down  that  rag  there.  I'll  do  the  same  for  you  an- 
other time."  He  watched  the  yellow  bunting  as  it  was 
eased  past  the  cross-trees  and  handed  down  on  deck. 
"You'll  float  no  more  on  this  ship,"  he  observed. 
"Muster  the  people  aft,  Mr.  Hay,"  he  added,  speaking 
unnecessarily  loud.     "  I've  a  word  to  say  to  them." 

It  was  with  a  singular  sensation  that  Herrick  prepared 
for  the  first  time  to  address  a  crew.  He  thanked  his 
stars,  indeed,  that  they  were  natives.  But  even  natives, 
he  reflected,  might  be  critics  too  quick  for  such  a  novice 

266 


THE  YELLOW   FLAG 

as  himself;  they  might  perceive  some  lapse  from  that 
precise  and  cut-and-dry  English  which  prevails  on  board 
a  ship;  it  was  even  possible  they  understood  no  other; 
and  he  racked  his  brain,  and  overhauled  his  reminis- 
ences  of  sea  romance,  for  some  appropriate  words. 

**  Here,  men,  tumble  aft!  "  he  said  at  last.  *'  Lively 
now!     All  hands  aft!" 

They  crowded  in  the  alleyway  like  sheep. 

"Here  they  are,  sir,"  said  Herrick. 

For  some  time  the  captain  continued  to  face  the  stern, 
then  turned  with  ferocious  suddenness  on  the  crew, 
and  seemed  to  enjoy  their  shrinking. 

"Now,"  he  said,  twisting  his  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and 
toying  with  the  spokes  of  the  wheel,  "I'm  Captain 
Brown.  I  command  this  ship.  This  is  Mr.  Hay,  first 
officer.  The  other  white  man  is  cabin  steward,  but  he'll 
stand  watch  and  do  his  trick.  My  orders  shall  be  obeyed 
smartly.  You  savvy,  smartly  ?  There  shall  be  no  growl- 
ing about  the  kaikai,  which  will  be  above  allowance. 
You'll  put  a  handle  to  the  mate's  name,  and  tack  on 
*  sir '  to  every  order  I  give  you.  If  you're  smart  and 
quick,  I'll  make  this  ship  comfortable  for  all  hands." 
He  took  the  cigar  out  of  his  mouth.  *  *  If  you're  not, "  he 
added,  in  a  roaring  voice,  "I'll  make  it  a  floating  hell. 
Now,  Mr.  Hay,  we'll  pick  watches,  if  you  please." 

"All  right,"  said  Herrick. 

"You  will  please  use  'sir'  when  you  address  me, 
Mr.  Hay,"  said  the  captain.  "  I'll  take  the  lady.  Step 
to  starboard,  Sally."  And  then  he  whispered  in  Her- 
rick's  ear:  "Take  the  old  man." 

"  I'll  take  you  there,"  said  Herrick. 

" What's  your  name ? "  said  the  captain.  "What's 
267 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

that  you  say  ?  Oh,  that's  not  English ;  I'll  have  none  of 
your  highway  gibberish  on  my  ship.  We'll  call  you  old 
Uncle  Ned,  because  you've  got  no  wool  on  the  top  of 
your  head,  just  the  place  where  the  wool  ought  to  grow. 
Step  to  port.  Uncle.  Don't  you  hear  Mr.  Hay  has  picked 
you  ?  Then  I'll  take  the  white  man.  White  Man,  step 
to  starboard.  Now  which  of  you  two  is  the  cook? 
You?  Then  Mr.  Hay  takes  your  friend  in  the  blue  dun- 
garee. Step  to  port,  Dungaree.  There !  we  know  who 
we  all  are  —  Dungaree,  Uncle  Ned,  Sally  Day,  White 
Man,  and  Cook.  All  F.F.V.'s,  I  guess.  And  now,  Mr. 
Hay,  we'll  up  anchor,  if  you  please." 

*'  For  heaven's  sake,  tell  me  some  of  the  words," 
whispered  Herrick. 

An  hour  later  the  Farallone  was  under  all  plain  sail, 
the  rudder  hard  a-port,  and  the  cheerfully  clanking 
windlass  had  brought  the  anchor  home. 

**  All  clear,  sir,"  cried  Herrick,  from  the  bow. 

The  captain  met  her  with  the  wheel,  as  she  bounded 
like  a  stag  from  her  repose,  trembling  and  bending  to 
the  puffs.  The  guard-boat  gave  a  parting  hail,  the  wake 
whitened  and  ran  out;  the  Farallone  was  under  way. 

Her  berth  had  been  close  to  the  pass.  Even  as  she 
forged  ahead,  Davis  slewed  her  for  the  channel  between 
the  pier  ends  of  the  reef,  the  breakers  sounding  and 
whitening  to  either  hand.  Straight  through  the  narrow 
band  of  blue  she  shot  to  seaward,  and  the  captain's 
heart  exulted  as  he  felt  her  tremble  under  foot,  and  (look- 
ing back  over  the  taflf-rail)  beheld  the  roofs  of  Papeete 
changing  position  on  the  shore,  and  the  island  moun- 
tains rearing  higher  in  the  wake. 

But  they  were  not  yet  done  with  the  shore  and  the 
268 


THE  YELLOW   FLAG 

horror  of  the  yellow  flag.  About  midway  of  the  pass 
there  was  a  cry  and  a  scurry ;  a  man  was  seen  to  leap 
upon  the  rail,  and,  throwing  his  arms  over  his  head,  to 
stoop  and  plunge  into  the  sea. 

"  Steady  as  she  goes,"  the  captain  cried,  relinquish- 
ing the  wheel  to  Huish.  , 

The  next  moment  he  was  forward,  in  the  midst  of 
the  Kanakas,  belaying-pin  in  hand. 

**  Anybody  else  for  shore  ?  "  he  cried,  and  the  savage 
trumpeting  of  his  voice,  no  less  than  the  ready  weapon 
in  his  hand,  struck  fear  in  all.  Stupidly  they  stared  after 
their  escaped  companion,  whose  black  head  was  visible 
upon  the  water,  steering  for  the  land.  And  the  schooner 
meanwhile  slipped  like  a  racer  through  the  pass,  and 
met  the  long  sea  of  the  open  ocean  with  a  souse  of 
spray. 

"Fool  that  I  was,  not  to  have  a  pistol  ready!"  ex- 
claimed Davis.  **Well,  we  go  to  sea  short-handed; 
we  can't  help  that.  You  have  a  lame  watch  of  it,  Mr. 
Hay." 

**  I  don't  see  how  we  are  to  get  along,"  said  Herrick. 

*'Got  to,"  said  the  captain.  "No  more  Tahiti  for 
me." 

Both  turned  instinctively  and  looked  astern.  The  fair 
island  was  unfolding,  mountain  top  on  mountain  top; 
Eimeo,  on  the  port  board,  lifted  her  splintered  pinna- 
cles, and  still  the  schooner  raced  to  the  open  sea. 

"  Think ! "  cried  the  captain,  with  a  gesture,  "  yester- 
day morning  I  danced  for  my  breakfast  like  a  poodle 
dog." 


269 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  CARGO  OF  CHAMPAGNE 

The  ship's  head  was  laid  to  clear  Eimeo  to  the  north, 
and  the  captain  sat  down  in  the  cabin  with  a  chart,  a 
ruler,  and  an  epitome. 

*'East  ahalf  no'the,"  said  he,  raising  his  face  from  his 
labours.  '*Mr.  Hay,  you'll  have  to  watch  her  dead 
reckoning.  I  want  every  yard  she  makes  on  every 
hair's  breadth  of  a  course.  I'm  going  to  knock  a  hole 
right  straight  through  the  Paumotus,  and  that's  always 
a  near  touch.  Now,  if  this  southeast  trade  ever  blew 
out  of  the  southeast,  which  it  don't,  we  might  hope  to 
lie  within  half  a  point  of  our  course.  Say  we  lie  within 
a  point  of  it.  That'll  just  about  weather  Fakarava.  Yes, 
sir,  that's  what  we've  got  to  do,  if  we  tack  for  it.  Brings 
us  through  this  slush  of  little  islands  in  the  cleanest 
place;  see.^"  And  he  showed  where  his  ruler  inter- 
sected the  wide-lying  labyrinth  of  the  Dangerous  Archi- 
pelago. "  1  wish  it  was  night,  and  I  could  put  her  about 
right  now ;  we're  losing  time  and  easting.  Well,  we'll 
do  our  best.  And  if  we  don't  fetch  Peru,  we'll  bring  up 
to  Ecuador.  All  one,  I  guess.  Depreciated  dollars  down, 
and  no  questions  asked.  A  remarkable  fine  institootion, 
the  South  American  don." 

Tahiti  was  already  some  way  astern,  the  Diadem  ris- 
270 


THE  CARGO   OF  CHAMPAGNE 

ing  from  among  broken  mountains ;  Eimeo  was  already 
close  aboard,  and  stood  black  and  strange  against  the 
golden  splendour  of  the  west,  when  the  captain  took  his 
departure  from  the  two  islands,  and  the  patent  log  was  set. 

Some  twenty  minutes  later,  Sally  Day,  who  was  con- 
tinually leaving  the  wheel  to  peer  in  at  the  cabin  clock, 
announced  in  a  shrill  cry  "Fo'  Bell,"  and  the  cook  was 
to  be  seen  carrying  the  soup  into  the  cabin. 

"I  guess  I'll  sit  down  and  have  a  pick  with  you," 
said  Davis  to  Herrick.  **By  the  time  I've  done,  it  '11 
be  dark,  and  we'll  clap  the  hooker  on  the  wind  for 
South  America." 

In  the  cabin,  at  one  corner  of  the  table,  immediately 
below  the  lamp,  and  on  the  lee  side  of  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne, sat  Huish. 

*'  What's  this  ?  Where  did  that  come  from  ?  "  asked 
the  captain. 

* '  It's  fizz ;  and  it  came  from  the  after-'old,  if  you  want 
to  know,"  said  Huish,  and  drained  his  mug. 

*'This'll  never  do!"  exclaimed  Davis,  the  merchant 
seaman's  horror  of  breaking  into  cargo  showing  incon- 
gruously forth  on  board  that  stolen  ship.  * '  There  was 
never  any  good  came  of  games  like  that." 

"  You  byby ! "  said  Huish.  **  A  fellow  would  think 
(to  'ear  him)  we  were  on  the  square!  And  look  'ere, 
you've  put  this  job  up  'andsomely  for  me,  'aven't  you  ? 
I'm  to  go  on  deck  and  steer  while  you  two  sit  and 
guzzle,  and  I'm  to  go  by  a  nickname,  and  got  to  call 
you  '  sir '  and  '  mister.*  Well,  you  look  here,  my  bloke; 
I'll  have  fizz  ad  lib.,  or  it  won't  wash.  I  tell  you  that. 
And  you  know  mighty  well  you  ain't  got  any  man-of- 
war  to  signal  now." 

271 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

Davis  was  staggered.  "Td  give  fifty  dollars  this  had 
never  happened,"  he  said  weakly. 

*'Well,  it  'as  'appened,  you  see,"  returned  Huish. 
**  Try  some;  it's  devilish  good." 

The  Rubicon  was  crossed  without  another  struggle. 
The  captain  filled  a  mug  and  drank. 

*'I  wish  it  was  beer,"  he  said  with  a  sigh.  **But 
there's  no  denying  it's  the  genuine  stuff,  and  cheap  at 
the  money.  Now,  Huish,  you  clear  out  and  take  your 
wheel." 

The  little  wretch  had  gained  a  point,  and  he  was 
gay.  ''Ay,  ay,  sir,"  said  he,  and  left  the  others  to 
their  meal. 

"  Pea  soup!  "  exclaimed  the  captain.  **  Blamed  if  I 
thought  I  should  taste  pea  soup  again !  " 

Herrick  sat  inert  and  silent.  It  was  impossible,  after 
these  months  of  hopeless  want,  to  smell  the  rough, 
high-spiced  sea  victuals  without  lust,  and  his  mouth 
watered  with  desire  of  the  champagne.  It  was  no  less 
impossible  to  have  assisted  at  the  scene  between  Huish 
and  the  captain,  and  not  to  perceive,  with  sudden  blunt- 
ness,  the  gulf  wherein  he  had  fallen.  He  was  a  thief 
among  thieves.  He  said  it  to  himself.  He  could  not 
touch  the  soup.  If  he  had  moved  at  all,  it  must  have 
been  to  leave  the  table,  throw  himself  overboard,  and 
drown  —  an  honest  man. 

''Here,"  said  the  captain,  ''you  look  sick,  old  man; 
have  a  drop  of  this." 

The  champagne  creamed  and  bubbled  in  the  mug;  its 
bright  color,  its  lively  effervescence  seized  his  eye.  "  It 
is  too  late  to  hesitate,"  he  thought.  His  hand  took  the 
mug  instinctively;  he  drank,  with  unquenchable  plea- 

272 


THE  CARGO   OF  CHAMPAGNE 

sure  and  desire  of  more ;  drained  the  vessel  dry,  and  set 
it  down  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"There  is  something  in  life  after  all!  "  he  cried.  " I 
had  forgot  what  it  was  like.  Yes,  even  this  is  worth 
while.  Wine,  food,  dry  clothes  —  why,  they're  worth 
dying,  worth  hanging  for!  Captain,  tell  me  one  thing: 
why  aren't  all  the  poor  folk  foot-pads  ?  " 

*'Give  it  up,"  said  the  captain. 

'*They  must  be  damned  good,"  cried  Herrick. 
''There's  something  here  beyond  me.  Think  of  that 
calaboose!  Suppose  we  were  sent  suddenly  back!" 
He  shuddered  as  though  stung  by  a  convulsion,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  clutching  hands. 

'*  Here,  what's  wrong  with  you?"  cried  the  captain. 
There  was  no  reply;  only  Herrick's  shoulders  heaved 
so  that  the  table  was  shaken.  "Take  some  more  of 
this.  Here,  drink  this.  I  order  you  to!  Don't  start 
crying  when  you're  out  of  the  wood." 

"I'm  not  crying,"  said  Herrick,  raising  his  face  and 
showing  his  dry  eyes.  "It's  worse  than  crying.  It's 
the  horror  of  that  grave  that  we've  escaped  from." 

"  Come,  now,  you  tackle  your  soup;  that'll  fix  you," 
said  Davis,  kindly.  "I  told  you  you  were  all  broken 
up.     You  couldn't  have  stood  out  another  week." 

' '  That's  the  dreadful  part  of  it !  "  cried  Herrick.  ' '  An- 
other week,  and  I'd  have  murdered  some  one  for  a  dol- 
lar! God!  and  I  know  that  ?  And  I'm  still  living  ?  It's 
some  beastly  dream." 

"Quietly,  quietly!  Quietly  does  it,  my  son.  Take 
your  pea  soup.  Food  —  that's  what  you  want,"  said 
Davis. 

The  soup  strengthened  and  quieted  Herrick's  nerves; 
273 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

another  glass  of  wine,  and  a  piece  of  pickled  pork  and 
fried  banana  completed  what  the  soup  began,  and  he 
was  able  once  more  to  look  the  captain  in  the  face. 

'*  I  didn't  know  I  was  so  much  run  down,"  he  said. 

**Well,"  said  Davis,  "you  were  as  steady  as  a  rock 
all  day;  now  you've  had  a  little  lunch,  you'll  be  as 
steady  as  a  rock  again." 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "  I'm  steady  enough  now,  but 
I'm  a  queer  kind  of  a  first  officer." 

"Shucks! "  cried  the  captain.  "You've  only  got  to 
mind  the  ship's  course,  and  keep  your  slate  to  half  a 
point.  A  babby  could  do  that;  let  alone  a  college  grad- 
uate like  you.  There  ain't  nothing  to  sailoring,  when 
you  come  to  look  it  in  the  face.  And  now  we'll  go  and 
put  her  about.  Bring  the  slate;  we'll  have  to  start  our 
dead  reckoning  right  away." 

The  distance  run  since  the  departure  was  read  off  the 
log  by  the  binnacle  light,  and  entered  on  the  slate. 

"Ready  about,"  said  the  captain.  "Give  me  the 
wheel.  White  Man,  and  you  stand  by  the  mainsheet. 
Boom  tackle,  Mr.  Hay,  please,  and  then  you  can  jump 
forward  and  attend  head-sails." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  responded  Herrick. 

"All  clear  forward.?"  asked  Davis. 

"All  clear,  sir." 

"Hard  a-lee!  "  cried  the  captain.  "Haul  in  your  slack 
as  she  comes,"  he  called  to  Huish.  "  Haul  in  your  slack; 
put  your  back  into  it;  keep  your  feet  out  of  the  coils." 
A  sudden  blow  sent  Huish  flat  along  the  deck,  and  the 
captain  was  in  his  place.  "  Pick  yourself  up  and  keep 
the  wheel  hard  over!  "  he  roared.  "  You  wooden  fool, 
you  wanted  to  get  killed,  I  guess.     Draw  the  jib,"  he 

274 


THE  CARGO   OF  CHAMPAGNE 

cried  a  moment  later;  and  then  to  Huish,  '*  Give  me  the 
wheel  again,  and  see  if  you  can  coil  that  sheet." 

But  Huish  stood  and  looked  at  Davis  with  an  evil 
countenance.  **Do  you  know  you  struck  me?"  said 
he. 

'*  Do  you  know  I  saved  your  life  ?  "  returned  the  other, 
not  deigning  to  look  at  him ;  his  eyes  travelling,  instead, 
between  the  compass  and  the  sails.  "Where  would 
you  have  been  if  that  boom  had  swung  out  and  you 
bundled  in  the  slack  ?  No,  sir;  we'll  have  no  more  of 
you  at  the  mainsheet.  Seaport  towns  are  full  of  main- 
sheet-men  ;  they  hop  upon  one  leg,  my  son,  what's  left 
of  them,  and  the  rest  are  dead.  (Set  your  boom  tackle, 
Mr.  Hay.)     Struck  you,  did  I  ?     Lucky  for  you  1  did." 

'*Well,"  said  Huish,  slowly,  "I  dessay  there  maybe 
somethink  in  that.  'Ope  there  is."  He  turned  his  back 
elaborately  on  the  captain,  and  entered  the  house,  where 
the  speedy  explosion  of  a  champagne  cork  showed  he 
was  attending  to  his  comfort. 

Herrick  came  aft  to  the  captain.  **  How  is  she  doing 
now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  East  and  by  no'the  a  half  no'the, "  said  Davis.  *'  It's 
about  as  good  as  I  expected." 

"What'll  the  hands  think  of  it .?"  said  Herrick. 

**  Oh,  they  don't  think.  They. ain't  paid  to,"  said  the 
captain. 

*' There  was  something  wrong,  was  there  not,  be- 
tween you  and "     Herrick  paused. 

** That's  a  nasty  little  beast;  that's  a  biter,"  replied 
the  captain,  shaking  his  head.  "  But  so  long  as  you  and 
me  hang  in,  it  don't  matter." 

Herrick  lay  down  in  the  weather  alleyway ;  the  night 
275 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

was  cloudless;  the  movement  of  the  ship  cradled  him; 
he  was  oppressed,  besides,  by  the  first  generous  meal 
after  so  long  a  time  of  famine,  and  he  was  recalled  from 
deep  sleep  by  the  voice  of  Davis  singing  out:  **  Eight 
bells!" 

He  rose  stupidly  and  staggered  aft,  where  the  captain 
gave  him  the  wheel. 

'* By  the  wind,"  said  the  captain.  **  It  comes  a  little 
puffy ;  when  you  get  a  heavy  puff,  steal  all  you  can  to 
windward,  but  keep  her  a  good  full." 

He  stepped  towards  the  house,  paused,  and  hailed  the 
forecastle.  * '  Got  such  a  thing  as  a  concertina  forward  ?  " 
said  he.  *' Bully  for  you,  Uncle  Ned.  Fetch  it  aft, 
will  you?" 

The  schooner  steered  very  easy;  and  Herrick,  watch- 
ing the  moon-whitened  sails,  was  overpowered  by 
drowsiness.  A  sharp  report  from  the  cabin  startled 
him;  a  third  bottle  had  been  opened;  and  Herrick  re- 
membered the  Sea  Ranger  and  Fourteen  Island  Group. 
Presently  the  notes  of  the  accordion  sounded,  and  then 
the  captain's  voice : 

"  O  honey,  with  our  pockets  full  of  money, 

We  will  trip,  trip,  trip,  we  will  trip  it  on  the  quay; 
And  I  will  dance  with  Kate,  and  Tom  will  dance  with  Sail, 
When  we're  all  back  from  South  Amerikee." 

So  it  went  to  its  quaint  air;  and  the  watch  below  lin- 
gered and  listened  by  the  forward  door,  and  Uncle  Ned 
was  to  be  seen  in  the  moonlight  nodding  time,  and  Her- 
rick smiled  at  the  wheel,  his  anxieties  awhile  forgotten. 
Song  followed  song;  another  cork  exploded;  there  were 
voices  raised,  as  though  the  pair  in  the  cabin  were  in 

276 


THE  CARGO  OF  CHAMPAGNE 

disagreement;  and  presently  it  seemed  the  breach  was 
healed,  for  it  was  now  the  voice  of  Huish  that  struck 
up,  to  the  captain's  accompaniment: — 

"  Up  in  a  balloon,  boys, 
Up  in  a  balloon, 
Up  among  the  little  stars, 
All  around  the  moon." 

A  wave  of  nausea  overcame  Herrick  at  the  wheel. 
He  wondered  why  the  air,  the  words  (which  were  yet 
written  with  a  certain  knack),  and  the  voice  and  accent 
of  the  singer,  should  all  jar  his  spirit  like  a  file  on  a  man's 
teeth.  He  sickened  at  the  thought  of  his  two  comrades 
drinking  away  their  reason  upon  stolen  wine,  quarrel- 
ling and  hiccupping  and  making  up,  while  the  doors  of 
a  prison  yawned  for  them  in  the  near  future.  **  Shall  I 
have  sold  my  honour  for  nothing  ?"  he  thought;  and  a 
heat  of  rage  and  resolution  glowed  in  his  bosom, — rage 
against  his  comrades,  resolution  to  carry  through  this 
business  if  it  might  be  carried;  pluck  profit  out  of 
shame,  since  the  shame  at  least  was  now  inevitable; 
and  come  home,  home  from  South  America — how  did 
the  song  go  ? — "  with  his  pockets  full  of  money.'* 

"  O  honey,  with  our  pockets  full  of  money, 

We  will  trip,  trip,  trip,  we  will  trip  it  on  the  quay : " — 

SO  the  words  ran  in  his  head,  and  the  "honey  "  took  on 
visible  form ;  the  quay  rose  before  him,  and  he  knew  it 
for  the  lamplit  Embankment,  and  he  saw  the  lights  of 
Battersea  bridge  bestride  the  sullen  river.  All  through 
the  remainder  of  his  trick  he  stood  entranced,  review- 

277 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

ing  the  past.  He  had  been  always  true  to  his  love,  but 
not  always  sedulous  to  recall  her.  In  the  growing  ca- 
lamity of  his  life,  she  had  swum  more  distant,  like  the 
moon  in  mist.  The  letter  of  farewell,  the  dishonourable 
hope  that  had  surprised  and  corrupted  him  in  his  dis- 
tress, the  changed  scene,  the  sea,  the  night,  and  the 
music, —  all  stirred  him  to  the  roots  of  manhood.  '*! 
will  win  her,"  he  thought,  and  ground  his  teeth.  "  Fair 
or  foul,  what  matters  if  I  win  her  }  " 

'*Fo'  bell,  matey.  I  think  um  fo'  bell."  He  was 
suddenly  recalled  by  these  words  in  the  voice  of  Uncle 
Ned. 

**Look  in  at  the  clock.  Uncle,"  said  he.  He  would 
not  look  himself  from  horror  of  the  tipplers. 

"Him  past,  matey,"  repeated  the  Hawaiian. 

"So  much  the  better  for  you.  Uncle,"  he  replied;  and 
he  gave  up  the  wheel,  repeating  the  directions  as  he  had 
received  them. 

He  took  two  steps  forward,  and  remembered  his  dead 
reckoning.  ' '  How  has  she  been  heading  ?  "  he  thought ; 
and  he  flushed  from  head  to  foot.  He  had  not  observed, 
or  had  forgotten;  here  was  the  old  incompetence;  the 
slate  must  be  filled  up  by  guess.  "Never  again!  "  he 
vowed  to  himself  in  silent  fury,  "  never  again.  It  shall 
be  no  fault  of  mine  if  this  miscarry."  And  for  the  re- 
mainder of  his  watch  he  stood  close  by  Uncle  Ned,  and 
read  the  face  of  the  compass  as,  perhaps,  he  had  never 
read  a  letter  from  his  sweetheart. 

All  the  time,  and  spurring  him  to  the  more  attention, 
song,  loud  talk,  fleering  laughter,  and  the  occasional 
popping  of  a  cork  reached  his  ears  from  the  interior  of 
the  house ;  and  when  the  port  watch  was  relieved  at  mid- 
278 


THE  CARGO   OF  CHAMPAGNE 

night,  Huish  and  the  captain  appeared  upon  the  quar« 
ter-deck  with  flushed  faces  and  uneven  steps,  the  former 
laden  with  bottles,  the  latter  with  the  two  tin  mugs. 
Herrick  silently  passed  them  by.  They  hailed  him  in 
thick  voices ;  he  made  no  answer.  They  cursed  him  for 
a  churl ;  he  paid  no  heed,  although  his  belly  quivered 
with  disgust  and  rage.  He  closed  to  the  door  of  the  house 
behind  him,  and  cast  himself  on  a  locker  in  the  cabin  — 
not  to  sleep,  he  thought;  rather  to  think  and  to  despair. 
Yet  he  had  scarce  turned  twice  on  his  uneasy  bed  before 
a  drunken  voice  hailed  him  in  the  ear,  and  he  must  go 
on  deck  again  to  stand  the  morning  watch. 

The  first  evening  set  the  model  for  those  that  were  to 
follow.  Two  cases  of  champagne  scarce  lasted  the  four 
and  twenty  hours,  and  almost  the  whole  was  drunk  by 
Huish  and  the  captain.  Huish  seemed  to  thrive  on  the 
excess.  He  was  never  sober,  yet  never  wholly  tipsy ; 
the  food  and  the  sea  air  had  soon  healed  him  of  his  dis- 
ease, and  he  began  to  lay  on  flesh.  But  with  Davis 
things  went  worse.  In  the  drooping,  unbuttoned  figure 
that  sprawled  all  day  upon  the  lockers,  tippling  and  read- 
ing novels,  in  the  fool  who  made  of  the  evening  watch 
a  public  carouse  on  the  quarter-deck,  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  recognise  the  vigorous  seaman  of  Papeete  roads. 
He  kept  himself  reasonably  well  in  hand  till  he  had  taken 
the  sun  and  yawned  and  blotted  through  his  calculations ; 
but,  from  the  moment  he  rolled  up  the  chart,  his  hours 
were  passed  in  slavish  self-indulgence  or  in  hoggish 
slumber.  Every  other  branch  of  his  duty  was  neglected, 
except  maintaining  a  stern  discipline  about  the  dinner 
table.  Again  and  again,  Herrick  would  hear  the  cook 
called  aft,  and  see  him  running  with  fresh  tins,  or  carry- 

279 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

ing  away  again  a  meal  that  had  been  totally  condemned. 
And  the  more  the  captain  became  sunk  in  drunkenness, 
the  more  delicate  his  palate  showed  itself.  Once  (in 
the  forenoon)  he  had  a  bo'sun's  chair  rigged  over  the 
rail,  stripped  to  his  trousers,  and  went  overboard  with 
a  pot  of  paint.  'M  don't  like  the  way  this  schooner's 
painted,"  said  he,  *'  and  I'll  take  a  turn  upon  her  name." 
But  he  tired  of  it  in  half  an  hour,  and  the  schooner  went 
on  her  way  with  an  incongruous  patch  of  colour  on  the 
stern,  and  the  word  **Farallone"  part  obliterated  and 
part  looking  through.  He  refused  to  stand  either  the 
middle  or  the  morning  watch.  It  was  fine-weather 
sailing,  he  said;  and  asked,  with  a  laugh,  *'Who  ever 
heard  of  the  old  man  standing  watch  himself  ?  "  To  the 
dead  reckoning,  which  Herrick  still  tried  to  keep,  he 
would  pay  not  the  least  attention  nor  afford  the  least 
assistance. 

"What  do  we  want  of  dead  reckoning?"  he  asked. 
"  We  get  the  sun  all  right,  don't  we  ?  " 

''We  mayn't  get  it  always,  though,"  objected  Her- 
rick. **  And  you  told  me  yourself  you  weren't  sure  of 
the  chronometer." 

"  Oh,  there  ain't  no  flies  on  the  chronometer! "  cried 
Davis. 

** Oblige  me  so  far,  captain,"  said  Herrick,  stiffly. 
"I  am  anxious  to  keep  this  reckoning,  which  is  a  part 
of  my  duty.  I  do  not  know  what  to  allow  for  current, 
nor  how  to  allow  for  it.  I  am  too  inexperienced,  and 
I  beg  of  you  to  help  me." 

** Never  discourage  zealous  officer,"  said  the  captain, 
unrolling  the  chart  again,  for  Herrick  had  taken  him 
over  his  day's  work,  and  while  he  was  still  partly  sober. 

280 


THE  CARGO  OF  CHAMPAGNE 

**  Here  it  is;  look  for  yourself;  anything  from  the  west- 
no'the-west,  and  anyways  from  five  to  twenty-five 
miles.  That's  what  the  A'm'ralty  chart  says.  I  guess 
you  don't  expect  to  get  ahead  of  your  own  Britishers  ?  " 

*M  am  trying  to  do  my  duty,  Captain  Brown,"  said 
Herrick,  with  a  dark  flush;  **and  I  have  the  honour  to 
inform  you  that  I  don't  enjoy  being  trifled  with." 

**What  in  thunder  do  you  want?"  roared  Davis. 
**  Go  and  look  at  the  blamed  wake.  If  you're  trying  to 
do  your  duty,  why  don't  you  go  and  do  it  ?  I  guess  it's 
no  business  of  mine  to  go  and  stick  my  head  over  the 
ship's  rump.  I  guess  it's  yours.  And  I'll  tell  you 
what  it  is,  my  fine  fellow,  I'll  trouble  you  not  to  come 
the  dude  over  me.  You're  insolent;  that's  what's 
wrong  with  you.  Don't  you  crowd  me,  Mr.  Herrick, 
Esquire." 

Herrick  tore  up  his  papers,  threw  them  on  the  floor, 
and  left  the  cabin. 

**He's  turned  a  bloomin'  swot,  ain't  he?"  sneered 
Huish. 

*' He  thinks  himself  too  good  for  his  company;  that's 
what  ails  Herrick,  Esquire,"  raged  the  captain.  ''He 
thinks  I  don't  understand  when  he  comes  the  heavy 
swell.  Won't  sit  down  with  us,  won't  he?  Won't 
say  a  civil  word  ?  I'll  serve  the  son  of  a  gun  as  he  de- 
serves. By  God,  Huish,  I'll  show  him  whether  he's 
too  good  for  John  Davis!  " 

*'  Easy  with  the  names,  Cap',"  said  Huish,  who  was 
always  the  more  sober.  **Easy  over  the  stones,  my 
boy! " 

''All  right,  I  will.  You're  a  good  sort,  Huish.  I 
didn't  take  to  you  at  first,  but  I  guess  you're  right 

281 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

enough.  Le's  open  another  bottle,"  said  the  captain; 
and  that  day,  perhaps  because  he  was  excited  by  the 
quarrel,  he  drank  more  recklessly,  and  by  four  o'clock 
was  stretched  insensible  upon  the  locker. 

Herrick  and  Huish  supped  alone,  one  after  the  other, 
opposite  his  flushed  and  snorting  body.  And  if  the 
sight  killed  Herrick's  hunger,  the  isolation  weighed  so 
heavily  on  the  clerk's  spirit  that  he  was  scarce  risen 
from  table  ere  he  was  currying  favour  with  his  former 
comrade. 

Herrick  was  at  the  wheel  when  he  approached,  and 
Huish  leaned  confidentially  across  the  binnacle. 

"I  say,  old  chappie,"  he  said,  *'you  and  me  don't 
seem  to  be  such  pals,  somehow." 

Herrick  gave  her  a  spoke  or  two  in  silence ;  his  eye, 
as  it  skirted  from  the  needle  to  the  luff  of  the  foresail, 
passed  the  man  by  without  speculation.  But  Huish 
was  really  dull,  a  thing  he  could  support  with  difficulty, 
having  no  resources  of  his  own.  The  idea  of  a  private 
talk  with  Herrick,  at  this  stage  of  their  relations,  held 
out  particular  inducements  to  a  person  of  his  character. 
Drink,  besides,  as  it  renders  some  men  hyper-sensitive, 
made  Huish  callous;  and  it  would  almost  have  required 
a  blow  to  make  him  quit  his  purpose. 

"  Pretty  business,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  continued.  "  Dyvis 
on  the  lush !  Must  say  I  thought  you  gave  it  'im  A-one 
to-day.  He  didn't  like  it  a  bit ;  took  on  hawful  after  you 
were  gone.  *  'Ere,'  says  1,  *  'old  on;  easy  on  the  lush,' 
I  says.  '  'Errick  was  right,  and  you  know  it.  Give 
*im  a  chanst,'  I  says.  *'Uish,'  sezee,  'don't  you  gim- 
me no  more  of  your  jaw,  or  I'll  knock  your  bloomin' 
eyes  out.'    Well,  wot  can  I  do,  'Errick  ?    But  I  tell  you, 

282 


THE  CARGO   OF   CHAMPAGNE 

I  don't  'arf  like  it.  It  looks  to  me  like  the  Sea  Rynger 
over  again." 

Still  Herrick  was  silent. 

''Do  you  'ear  me  speak?"  asked  Huish,  sharply. 
"  You're  pleasant,  ain't  you  ?  " 

''Stand  away  from  that  binnacle,"  said  Herrick. 

The  clerk  looked  at  him,  long  and  straight  and  black; 
his  figure  seemed  to  writhe  like  that  of  a  snake  about 
to  strike;  then  he  turned  on  his  heel,  went  back  to  the 
cabin,  and  opened  a  bottle  of  champagne.  When  eight 
bells  were  cried,  he  slept  on  the  floor  beside  the  captain 
on  the  locker;  and  of  the  whole  starboard  watch,  only 
Sally  Day  appeared  upon  the  summons.  The  mate 
proposed  to  stand  the  watch  with  him,  and  let  Uncle 
Ned  lie  down.  It  would  make  twelve  hours  on  deck, 
and  probably  sixteen ;  but  in  this  fair-weather  sailing, 
he  might  safely  sleep  between  his  tricks  of  wheel,  leav- 
ing orders  to  be  called  on  any  sign  of  squalls.  So  far 
he  could  trust  the  men,  between  whom  and  himself  a 
close  relation  had  sprung  up.  With  Uncle  Ned  he  held 
long  nocturnal  conversations,  and  the  old  man  told  him 
his  simple  and  hard  story  of  exile,  suffering,  and  injustice 
among  cruel  whites.  The  cook,  when  he  found  Herrick 
messed  alone,  produced  for  him  unexpected  and  some- 
times unpalatable  dainties,  of  which  he  forced  himself 
to  eat.  And  one  day,  when  he  was  forward,  he  was 
surprised  to  feel  a  caressing  hand  run  down  his  shoul- 
der, and  to  hear  the  voice  of  Sally  Day  crooning  in  his 
ear:  "You  gootch  man!"  He  turned,  and,  choking 
down  a  sob,  shook  hands  with  the  negrito.  They  were 
kindly,  cheery,  childish  souls.  Upon  the  Sunday  each 
brought  forth  his  separate  Bible;  for  they  were  all  men 

283 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

of  alien  speech,  even  to  each  other,  and  Sally  Day  com- 
municated with  his  mates  in  English  only.  Each  read, 
or  made  believe  to  read,  his  chapter,  Uncle  Ned  with 
spectacles  on  nose,  and  they  would  all  join  together  in 
the  singing  of  missionary  hymns.  It  was  thus  a  cutting 
reproof  to  compare  the  islanders  and  the  whites  aboard 
the  Farattone.  Shame  ran  in  Merrick's  blood  to  re- 
member what  employment  he  was  on,  and  to  see  these 
poor  souls  —  and  even  Sally  Day,  the  child  of  cannibals, 
in  all  likelihood  a  cannibal  himself —  so  faithful  to  what 
they  knew  of  good.  The  fact  that  he  was  held  in  grate- 
ful favour  by  these  innocents  served  like  blinders  to  his 
conscience,  and  there  were  times  when  he  was  inclined, 
with  Sally  Day,  to  call  himself  a  good  man.  But  the 
height  of  his  favour  was  only  now  to  appear.  With  one 
voice  the  crew  protested.  Ere  Herrick  knew  what  they 
were  doing,  the  cook  was  aroused,  and  came  a  willing 
volunteer ;  all  hands  clustered  about  their  mate  with  ex- 
postulations and  caresses,  and  he  was  bidden  to  lie  down 
and  take  his  customary  rest  without  alarm. 

*'He  tell  you  tlue,"  said  Uncle  Ned.  **You  sleep. 
Evely  man  hea  he  do  all  light.  Evely  man  he  like  you 
too  much." 

Herrick  struggled  —  choked  upon  some  trivial  words 
of  gratitude  —  and  walked  to  the  side  of  the  house, 
against  which  he  leaned,  struggling  with  emotion. 

Uncle  Ned  presently  followed  him,  and  begged  him 
to  lie  down. 

*Mt's  no  use.  Uncle  Ned,"  he  replied.  *'I  couldn't 
sleep.     I'm  knocked  over  with  all  your  goodness." 

**Ah,  no  call  me  Uncle  Ned  no  mo'!"  cried  the  old 
man.     **No  my  name!    My  name  Taveeta,  all-e-same 

284 


THE  CARGO  OF  CHAMPAGNE 

Taveeta,  King  of  Islael.  Wat  for  he  call  that  Hawaii  ? 
I  think  no  savvy  nothing  —  all-e-same  Wise-a-mana." 

It  was  the  first  time  the  name  of  the  late  captain  had 
been  mentioned,  and  Herrick  grasped  the  occasion.  The 
reader  shall  be  spared  Uncle  Ned's  unwieldy  dialect,  and 
learn,  in  less  embarrassing  English,  the  sum  of  what  he 
now  communicated.  The  ship  had  scarce  cleared  the 
Golden  Gate  before  the  captain  and  mate  had  entered 
on  a  career  of  drunkenness,  which  was  scarcely  inter- 
rupted by  their  malady,  and  only  closed  by  death.  For 
days  and  weeks  they  had  encountered  neither  land  nor 
ship;  and,  seeing  themselves  lost  on  the  huge  deep 
with  their  insane  conductors,  the  natives  had  drunk 
deep  of  terror. 

At  length  they  made  a  low  island,  and  went  in ;  and 
Wiseman  and  Wishart  landed  in  the  boat.  There  was 
a  great  village,  a  very  fine  village,  and  plenty  Kanakas 
in  that  place,  but  all  mighty  serious ;  and,  from  every 
here  and  there  in  the  back  parts  of  the  settlement,  Ta- 
veeta heard  the  sounds  of  island  lamentation.  *M  no 
savvy  talk  that  island,"  said  he.  *'  I  savvy  hear  um  cly. 
I  think,  Hum!  too  many  people  die  here!"  But  upon 
Wiseman  and  V.'ishart  the  significance  of  that  barbaric 
keening  was  lost.  Full  of  bread  and  drink,  they  rol- 
licked along,  unconcerned ;  embraced  the  girls,  who  had 
scarce  energy  to  repel  them ;  took  up  and  joined  (with 
drunken  voices)  in  the  death  wail ;  and  at  last  (on  what 
they  took  to  be  an  invitation)  entered  under  the  roof  of  a 
house  in  which  was  a  considerable  concourse  of  people 
sitting  silent.  They  stooped  below  the  eaves,  flushed 
and  laughing;  within  a  minute  they  came  forth  again 
with  changed  faces  and  silenced  tongues;  and,  as  the 

285 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

press  severed  to  make  way  for  them,  Taveeta  was  able 
to  perceive,  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  house,  the  sick 
man  raising  from  his  mat  a  head  already  defeatured  by 
disease.  The  two  tragic  triflers  fled,  without  hesita- 
tion, for  their  boat,  screaming  on  Taveeta  to  make  haste. 
They  came  aboard  with  all  speed  of  oars,  raised  anchor, 
and  crowded  sail  upon  the  ship  with  blows  and  curses, 
and  were  at  sea  again — and  again  drunk  —  before  sun- 
set. A  week  after,  and  the  last  of  the  two  had  been 
committed  to  the  deep.  Herrick  asked  Taveeta  where 
that  island  was,  and  he  replied  that,  by  what  he  gath- 
ered of  folks'  talk  as  they  went  up  together  from  the 
beach,  he  supposed  it  must  be  one  of  the  Paumotus. 
This  was  in  itself  probable  enough,  for  the  Dangerous 
Archipelago  had  been  swept  that  year  from  east  to  west 
by  devastating  small-pox;  but  Herrick  thought  it  a 
strange  course  to  lie  for  Sydney.  Then  he  remembered 
the  drink. 

"Were  they  not  surprised  when  they  made  the 
island.?"  he  asked. 

"  Wise-a-mana  he  say,  '  Dam !  what  this  ?  * "  was  the 
reply. 

"  Oh.  that's  it,  then,"  said  Herrick.  **  I  don't  believe 
they  knew  where  they  were." 

"  I  tink  so,  too,"  said  Uncle  Ned.  "I  tink  no  savvy. 
This  one  mo'  betta,"  he  added,  pointing  to  the  house 
where  the  drunken  captain  slumbered.  **Take-a-sun 
all-e-same." 

The  implied  last  touch  completed  Herrick's  picture  of 
the  life  and  death  of  his  two  predecessors;  of  their  pro- 
longed, sordid,  sodden  sensuality  as  they  sailed,  they 
knew  not  whither,  on  their  last  cruise.     He  held  but  a 

286 


THE  CARGO   OF  CHAMPAGNE 

twinkling  and  unsure  belief  in  any  future  state;  the 
thought  of  one  of  punishment,  he  derided ;  yet  for  him 
(as  for  all)  there  dwelt  a  horror  about  the  end  of  the 
brutish  man.  Sickness  fell  upon  him  at  the  image  thus 
called  up;  and  when  he  compared  it  with  the  scene  in 
which  himself  was  acting,  and  considered  the  doom 
that  seemed  to  brood  upon  the  schooner,  a  horror  that 
was  almost  superstitious  fell  upon  him.  And  yet  the 
strange  thing  was,  he  did  not  falter.  He  who  had 
proved  his  incapacity  in  so  many  fields,  being  now 
falsely  placed  amid  duties  which  he  did  not  understand, 
without  help,  and,  it  might  be  said,  without  counte- 
nance, had  hitherto  surpassed  expectation ;  and  even  the 
shameful  misconduct  and  shocking  disclosures  of  that 
night  served  but  to  nerve  and  strengthen  him.  He  had 
sold  his  honour ;  he  vowed  it  should  not  be  in  vain.  *  *  It 
shall  be  no  fault  of  mine  if  this  miscarry,"  he  repeated. 
And  in  his  heart  he  wondered  at  himself.  Living  rage, 
no  doubt,  supported  him ;  no  doubt,  also,  the  sense  of 
the  last  cast,  of  the  ships  burned,  of  all  doors  closed  but 
one,  which  is  so  strong  a  tonic  to  the  merely  weak,  and 
so  deadly  a  depressant  to  the  merely  cowardly. 

For  some  time  the  voyage  went  otherwise  weU.  They 
weathered  Fakarava  with  one  board ;  and,  the  wind  hold- 
ing well  to  the  southward  and  blowing  fresh,  they  passed 
between  Ranaka  and  Ratiu,  and  ran  some  days,  north- 
east by  east  half  east,  under  the  lee  of  Takume  and 
Hondem,  neither  of  which  they  made.  In  about  four- 
teen south  and  between  one  hundred  and  thirty-four 
and  one  hundred  and  thirty-five  west,  it  fell  a  dead  calm, 
with  rather  a  heavy  sea.  The  captain  refused  to  take  in 
sail;  the  helm  was  lashed,  no  watch  was  set,  and  the 

287 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

FaraUone  rolled  and  banged  for  three  days,  according  to 
observation,  in  almost  the  same  place.  The  fourth  morn- 
ing, a  little  before  day,  a  breeze  sprang  up  and  rapidly 
freshened.  The  captain  had  drunk  hard  the  night  be- 
fore ;  he  was  far  from  sober  when  he  was  roused ;  and 
when  he  came  on  deck  for  the  first  time,  at  half  past 
eight,  it  was  plain  he  had  already  drunk  deep  again  at 
breakfast.  Herrick  avoided  his  eye,  and  resigned  the 
deck,  with  indignation,  to  a  man  more  than  half  seas 
over.  By  the  loud  commands  of  the  captain  and  the 
singing  out  of  fellows  at  the  ropes,  he  could  judge  from 
the  house  that  sail  was  being  crowded  on  the  ship ;  re- 
linquished his  half-eaten  breakfast,  and  came  on  deck 
again,  to  find  the  main  and  the  jib  topsails  set,  and  both 
watches  and  the  cook  turned  out  to  hand  the  stay-sail. 
The  FaraUone  lay  already  far  over;  the  sky  was  ob- 
scured with  misty  scud;  and  from  the  windward  an 
ominous  squall  came  flying  up,  broadening  and  black- 
ening as  it  rose. 

Fear  thrilled  in  Herrick's  vitals.  He  saw  death  hard 
by,  and,  if  not  death,  sure  ruin;  for  if  the  FaraUone 
lived  through  the  coming  squall,  she  must  surely  be 
dismasted.  With  that,  their  enterprise  was  at  an  end, 
and  they  themselves  bound  prisoners  to  the  very  evi- 
dence of  their  crime.  The  greatness  of  the  peril  and 
his  own  alarm  sufficed  to  silence  him.  Pride,  wrath, 
and  shame  raged  without  issue  in  his  mind,  and  he 
shut  his  teeth  and  folded  his  arms  close. 

The  captain  sat  in  the  boat  to  windward,  bellowing 
orders  and  insults,  his  eyes  glazed,  his  face  deeply  con- 
gested, a  bottle  set  between  his  knees,  a  glass  in  his 
hand,  half  empty.     His  back  was  to  the  squall,  and  he 


THE  CARGO   OF  CHAMPAGNE 

was  at  first  intent  upon  the  setting  of  the  sail.  When 
that  was  done,  and  the  great  trapezium  of  canvas  had 
begun  to  draw  and  to  trail  the  lee-rail  of  the  FaraUone 
level  with  the  foam,  he  laughed  out  an  empty  laugh, 
drained  his  glass,  sprawled  back  among  the  lumber  in 
the  boat,  and  fetched  out  a  crumpled  novel. 

Herrick  watched  him,  and  his  indignation  glowed  red- 
hot.  He  glanced  to  windward,  where  the  squall  already 
whitened  the  near  sea,  and  already  heralded  its  coming 
with  a  singular  and  dismal  sound.  He  glanced  at  the 
steersman,  and  saw  him  clinging  to  the  spokes  with  a 
face  of  a  sickly  blue.  He  saw  the  crew  were  running  to 
their  stations  without  orders,  and  it  seemed  as  if  some- 
thing broke  in  his  brain ;  and  the  passion  of  anger,  so 
long  restrained,  so  long  eaten  in  secret,  burst  suddenly 
loose,  and  filled  and  shook  him  like  a  sail.  He  stepped 
across  to  the  captain,  and  smote  his  hand  heavily  on  the 
drunkard's  shoulder. 

'*  You  brute,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  tottered,  *Mook 
behind  you! " 

'*Wha's  that?"  cried  Davis,  bounding  in  the  boat 
and  upsetting  the  champagne. 

*'You  lost  the  Sea  Ranger  because  you  were  a 
drunken  sot,"  said  Herrick.  *'Now  you're  going  to 
lose  the  FaraUone.  You're  going  to  drown  here  the 
same  way  as  you  drowned  others,  and  be  damned. 
And  your  daughtei  shall  walk  the  streets,  and  your  sons 
be  thieves  like  their  father." 

For  the  moment,  the  words  struck  the  captain  white 
and  foolish.  '*  My  God!  "  he  cried,  looking  at  Herrick 
as  upon  a  ghost;  *'my  God,  Herrick!" 

*'  Look  behind  you,  then ! "  reiterated  the  assailant. 
289 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

The  wretched  man,  already  partly  sobered,  did  as  he 
was  told,  and  in  the  same  breath  of  time  leaped  to  his 
feet.  "Down  staysail!"  he  trumpeted.  The  hands 
were  thrilling  for  the  order,  and  the  great  sail  came  with 
a  run,  and  fell  half  overboard  among  the  racing  foam. 
** Jib  topsail  halyards !    Let  the  stays'l  be, "  he  said  again. 

But  before  it  was  well  uttered,  the  squall  shouted 
aloud  and  fell,  in  a  solid  mass  of  wind  and  rain  com- 
mingled on  the  Farallone,  and  she  stooped  under  the 
blow,  and  lay  like  a  thing  dead.  From  the  mind  of 
Herrick  reason  fled;  he  clung  in  the  weather  rigging, 
exulting;  he  was  done  with  life,  and  he  gloried  in  the 
release;  he  gloried  in  the  wild  noises  of  the  wind  and 
the  choking  onslaught  of  the  rain ;  he  gloried  to  die  so, 
and  now,  amid  this  coil  of  the  elements.  And  mean- 
while, in  the  waist,  up  to  his  knees  in  water,  —  so  low 
the  schooner  lay, — the  captain  was  hacking  at  the  fore- 
sheet  with  a  pocket-knife.  It  was  a  question  of  seconds, 
for  the  Farallone  drank  deep  of  the  encroaching  seas. 
But  the  hand  of  the  captain  had  the  advance.  The  fore- 
sail boom  tore  apart  the  last  strands  of  the  sheet,  and 
crashed  to  leeward;  the  Farallone  leaped  up  into  the 
wind  and  righted;  and  the  peak  and  throat  halyards, 
which  had  long  been  let  go,  began  to  run  at  the  same 
instant. 

For  some  ten  minutes  more  she  careered  under  the 
impulse  of  the  squall;  but  the  captain  was  now  master 
of  himself  and  of  his  ship,  and  all  danger  at  an  end. 
And  then,  sudden  as  a  trick-change  upon  the  stage,  the 
squall  blew  by,  the  wind  dropped  into  light  airs,  the 
sun  beamed  forth  again  upon  the  tattered  schooner;  and 
the  captain,  having  secured  the  foresail  boom,  and  set  a 

290 


THE  CARGO   OF  CHAMPAGNE 

couple  of  hands  to  the  pump,  walked  aft,  sober,  a  little 
pale,  and  with  the  sodden  end  of  a  cigar  still  stuck  be- 
tween his  teeth,  even  as  the  squall  had  found  it.  Her- 
rick  followed  him.  He  could  scarce  recall  the  violence 
of  his  late  emotions,  but  he  felt  there  was  a  scene  to  go 
through,  and  he  was  anxious  and  even  eager  to  go 
through  with  it. 

The  captain,  turning  at  the  house  end,  met  him  face 
to  face,  and  averted  his  eyes.  ''We've  lost  the  two 
tops'ls  and  the  stays'l,"  he  gabbled.  "Good  business 
we  did  n't  lose  any  sticks.  1  guess  you  think  we're  all 
the  better  without  the  kites." 

"That's  not  what  I'm  thinking,"  said  Herrick,  in  a 
voice  strangely  quiet,  that  yet  echoed  confusion  in  the 
captain's  mind. 

"I  know  that,"  he  cried,  holding  up  his  hand.  "I 
know  what  you're  thinking.  No  use  to  say  it  now.  I'm 
sober." 

"I  have  to  say  it,  though,"  returned  Herrick. 

"Hold  on,  Herrick;  you've  said  enough,"  said  Davis. 
"  You've  said  what  I  would  take  from  no  man  breath- 
ing but  yourself ;  only  1  know  it's  true." 

"I  have  to  tell  you.  Captain  Brown,"  pursued  Her- 
rick, "that  I  resign  my  position  as  mate.  You  can  put 
me  in  irons  or  shoot  me,  as  you  please.  I  will  make  no 
resistance ;  only  I  decline  in  any  way  to  help  or  to  obey 
you;  and  I  suggest  you  should  put  Mr.  Huish  in  my 
place.  He  will  make  a  worthy  first  officer  to  your  cap- 
tain, sir."  He  smiled,  bowed,  and  turned  to  walk  for- 
ward. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Herrick  ?  "  cried  the  captain, 
detaining  him  by  the  shoulder. 

291 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

"To  berth  forward  with  the  men,  sir,"  replied  Her- 
rick,  with  the  same  hateful  smile.  *'Vwq  been  long 
enough  aft  here  with  you  —  gentlemen." 

**  You're  wrong  there,"  said  Davis.  ''Don't  you  be 
too  quick  with  me ;  there  ain't  nothing  wrong  but  the 
drink  —  it's  the  old  story,  man !  Let  me  get  sober  once, 
and  then  you'll  see,"  he  pleaded. 

"Excuse  me,  I  desire  to  see  no  more  of  you,"  said 
Herrick. 

The  captain  groaned  aloud.  "  You  know  what  you 
said  about  my  children  ?  "  he  broke  out. 

"By  rote.  In  case  you  wish  me  to  say  it  to  you 
again  ?  "  asked  Herrick. 

"  Don't! "  cried  the  captain,  clapping  his  hands  to  his 
ears.  "  Don't  make  me  kill  a  man  I  care  for!  Herrick, 
if  you  see  me  put  a  glass  to  my  lips  again  till  we're 
ashore,  I  give  you  leave  to  put  a  bullet  through  me.  I 
beg  you  to  do  it!  You're  the  only  man  aboard  whose 
carcass  is  worth  losing.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know 
that.^  Do  you  think  I  ever  went  back  on  you?  I 
always  knew  that  you  were  in  the  right  of  it;  drunk  or 
sober,  I  knew  that.  What  do  you  want  ?  An  oath  ? 
Man,  you're  clever  enough  to  see  that  this  is  sure- 
enough  earnest." 

"Do  you  mean  there  shall  be  no  more  drinking," 
asked  Herrick;  "  neither  by  you  nor  Huish  ?  That  you 
won't  go  on  stealing  my  profits  and  drinking  my  cham- 
pagne, that  I  gave  my  honour  for  ?  And  that  you'll  at- 
tend to  your  duties,  and  stand  watch  and  watch,  and 
bear  your  proper  share  of  the  ship's  work,  instead  of 
leaving  it  all  on  the  shoulders  of  a  landsman,  and  mak- 
ing yourself  the  butt  and  scoff  of  native  seamen  ?    Is 

292 


THE  CARGO  OF  CHAMPAGNE 

that  what  you  mean  ?    If  it  is,  be  so  good  as  to  say  it 
categorically." 

*  *  You  put  these  things  in  a  way  hard  for  a  gentleman 
to  swallow,'*  said  the  captain.  **  You  would  n't  have 
me  say  I  was  ashamed  of  myself?  Trust  me  this  once! 
I'll  do  the  square  thing;  and  there's  my  hand  on  it." 

*'Well,  I'll  try  it  once,"  said  Herrick.  ''Fail  me 
again " 

**No  more  now  !"  interrupted  Davis.  "No  more, 
old  man !  Enough  said.  You've  a  riling  tongue  when 
your  back's  up,  Herrick.  Just  be  glad  we're  friends 
again,  the  same  as  what  I  am,  and  go  tender  on  the 
raws:  I'll  see  as  you  don't  repent  it.  We've  been 
mighty  near  death  this  day, —  don't  say  whose  fault  it 
was !  —  pretty  near  hell  too,  I  guess.  We're  in  a  mighty 
bad  line  of  life,  us  two,  and  ought  to  go  easy  with  each 
other." 

He  was  maundering;  yet  it  seemed  as  if  he  were 
maundering  with  some  design,  beating  about  the  bush 
of  some  communication  that  he  feared  to  make,  or  per- 
haps only  talking  against  time,  in  terror  of  what  Her- 
rick might  say  next.  But  Herrick  had  now  spat  his 
venom.  His  was  a  kindly  nature,  and,  content  with 
his  triumph,  he  had  now  begun  to  pity.  With  a 
few  spothing  words  he  sought  to  conclude  the  inter- 
view, and  proposed  that  they  should  change  their 
clothes. 

*  *  Not  right  yet, "  said  Davis.  *  *  There's  another  thing 
I  want  to  tell  you  first.  You  know  what  you  said  about 
my  children  ?  I  want  to  tell  you  why  it  hit  me  so 
hard ;  I  kind  of  think  you'll  feel  bad  about  it  too.  It's 
about  my  little  Adar.     You  hadn't  ought  to  have  quite 

293 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

said  that  —  but  of  course  I  know  you  didn't  know.  She 
—  she's  dead,  you  see." 

*'Why,  Davis!"  cried  Herrick.  *  You've  told  me  a 
dozen  times  she  was  alive!  Clear  your  head,  man! 
This  must  be  the  drink." 

*'No,  sir/'  said  Davis.  ** She's  dead,  right  enough. 
Died  of  a  bowel  complaint.  That  was  when  I  was 
away  in  the  brig  Oregon.  She  lies  in  Portland,  Maine. 
*  Adar,  only  daughter  of  Captain  John  Davis  and  Mariar 
his  wife,  aged  five.'  I  had  a  doll  for  her  on  board.  I 
never  took  the  paper  off'n  that  doll,  Herrick;  it  went 
down  the  way  it  was,  with  the  Sea  Ranger,  that  day  I 
was  damned." 

The  captain's  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  horizon;  he 
talked  with  an  extraordinary  softness,  but  a  complete 
composure;  and  Herrick  looked  upon  him  with  some- 
thing that  was  almost  terror. 

''Don't  think  I'm  crazy,  neither,"  resumed  Davis. 
"I've  all  the  cold  sense  that  I  know  what  to  do  with. 
But  I  guess  a  man  that's  unhappy's  like  a  child;  and 
this  is  a  kind  of  a  child's  game  of  mine.  I  never  could 
act  up  to  the  plain-out  truth,  you  see.  So  I  pretend. 
And  I  warn  you  square:  as  soon  as  we're  through 
with  this  talk,  I'll  start  in  again  with  the  pretending. 
Only,  you  see,  she  can't  walk  no  streets,"  ad4ed  the 
captain;  "couldn't  even  make  out  to  live  and  get  that 
doll!" 

Herrick  laid  a  tremulous  hand  upon  the  captain's 
shoulder. 

"Don't  do  that!"  cried  Davis,  recoiling  from  the 
touch.  "Can't  you  see  I'm  all  broken  up  the  way  it 
is?    Come  along,  then;  come  along,  old  man.      You 

294 


THE  CARGO   OF  CHAMPAGNE 

can  put  your  trust  in  me  right  through.  Come  along 
and  get  dry  clothes." 

They  entered  the  cabin,  and  there  was  Huish  on  his 
knees,  prising  open  a  case  of  champagne. 

"Vast,  there!"  cried  the  captain.  **No  more  of 
that.     No  more  drinking  on  this  ship." 

' '  Turned  teetotal,  'ave  you  ?  "  inquired  Huish.  * '  I'm 
agreeable.  About  time,  eh?  Bloomin'  nearly  lost 
another  ship,  I  fancy."  He  took  out  a  bottle,  and  be- 
gan calmly  to  burst  the  wire  with  the  spike  of  a  cork- 
screw. 

**  Do  you  hear  me  speak  ?  "  cried  Davis. 

"I  suppose  I  do.  You  speak  loud  enough,"  said 
Huish.     "The  trouble  is  that  I  don't  care." 

Herrick  plucked  the  captain's  sleeve.  "Let  him  be 
now,"  said  he;  "we've  had  all  we  want  this  evening." 

"  Let  him  have  it,  then,"  said  the  captain.  "  It's  his 
last." 

By  this  time  the  wire  was  open,  the  string  was  cut, 
the  head  of  gilded  paper  was  torn  away,  and  Huish 
waited,  mug  in  hand,  expecting  the  usual  explosion. 
It  did  not  follow.  He  eased  the  cork  with  his  thumb; 
still  there  was  no  result.  At  last  he  took  the  screw  and 
drew  it.  It  came  out  very  easy  and  with  scarce  a 
sound. 

"  'Illo! "  said  Huish,  "  'ere's  a  bad  bottle." 

He  poured  some  of  the  wine  into  the  mug;  it  was 
colourless  and  still.     He  smelt  and  tasted  it. 

"  W'y,  wot's  this  ?  "  he  said.     "  It's  water!  " 

If  the  voice  of  trumpets  had  suddenly  sounded  about 
the  ship  in  the  midst  of  the  sea,  the  three  men  in  the 
house  could  scarce  have  been  more  stunned  than  by 

295 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

this  incident.  The  mug  passed  round;  each  sipped, 
each  smelt  of  it ;  each  stared  at  the  bottle,  in  its  glory  of 
gold  paper,  as  Crusoe  may  have  stared  at  the  footprint ; 
and  their  minds  were  swift  to  fix  upon  a  common  ap- 
prehension. The  difference  between  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne and  a  bottle  of  water  is  not  great ;  between  a 
shipload  of  one  or  of  the  other  lay  the  whole  scale  from 
riches  to  ruin. 

A  second  bottle  was  broached.  There  were  two  cases 
standing  ready  in  a  stateroom.  These  two  were  brought 
out,  broken  open  and  tested ;  still  with  the  same  result : 
the  contents  were  still  colourless  and  tasteless,  and  dead 
as  the  rain  in  a  beached  fishing-boat. 

'* Crikey!"  said  Huish. 

*'  Here,  let's  sample  the  hold!  "  said  the  captain,  mop- 
ping his  brow  with  a  back-handed  sweep ;  and  the  three 
stalked  out  of  the  house,  grim  and  heavy-footed. 

All  hands  were  turned  out :  two  Kanakas  were  sent 
below,  another  stationed  at  a  purchase,  and  Davis,  axe 
in  hand,  took  his  place  beside  the  coaming. 

"  Are  you  going  to  let  the  men  know  ?  "  whispered 
Herrick. 

'*  Damn  the  men  ! "  said  Davis.  ''  It's  beyond  that. 
We've  got  to  know  ourselves." 

Three  cases  were  sent  on  deck  and  sampled  in  turn; 
from  each  bottle,  as  the  captain  smashed  it  with  the  axe, 
the  champagne  ran  bubbling  and  creaming. 

'*  Go  deeper,  can't  you  ?"  cried  Davis  to  the  Kanakas 
in  the  hold. 

The  command  gave  the  signal  for  a  disastrous  change. 
Case  after  case  came  up,  bottle  after  bottle  was  burst, 
and  bled  mere  water.    Deeper  yet,  and  they  came  upon 

296 


THE  CARGO  OF  CHAMPAGNE 

a  layer  where  there  was  scarcely  so  much  as  the  inten- 
tion to  deceive, —  where  the  cases  were  no  longer 
branded,  the  bottles  no  longer  wired  or  papered ;  where 
the  fraud  was  manifest,  and  stared  them  in  the  face. 

"Here's  about  enough  of  this  foolery!"  said  Davis. 
**Stow  back  the  cases  in  the  hold,  Uncle,  and  get  the 
broken  crockery  overboard.  Come  with  me,"  he  added 
to  his  co-adventurers,  and  led  the  way  back  into  the 
cabin. 


W 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  PARTNERS 

Each  took  a  side  of  the  fixed  table.  It  was  the  first 
time  they  had  sat  down  at  it  together;  but  now  all 
sense  of  incongruity,  all  memory  of  differences,  was 
quite  swept  away  by  the  presence  of  common  ruin. 

*' Gentlemen,"  said  the  captain,  after  a  pause,  and 
with  very  much  the  air  of  a  chairman  opening  a  board- 
meeting,  *' we're  sold." 

Huish  broke  out  in  laughter.  *'  Well,  if  this  ain't  the 
'ighest  old  rig!"  he  cried.  ''And  Davis  'ere,  who 
thought  he  had  got  up  so  bloomin'  early  in  the  morn- 
in'!  We've  stolen  a  cargo  of  spring  water!  Oh,  my 
crikey!"  and  he  squirmed  with  mirth. 

The  captain  managed  to  screw  out  a  phantom  smile. 

**  Here's  Old  Man  Destiny  again,"  said  he  to  Herrick; 
"but  this  time  I  guess  he's  kicked  the  door  right  in.'* 

Herrick  only  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  Lord,  it's  rich!"  laughed  Huish.  "It  would 
really  be  a  scrumptious  lark  if  it  'ad  'appened  to  some- 
body else.  And  wot  are  we  to  do  next  ?  Oh,  my  eye ! 
with  this  bloomin'  schooner,  too." 

**  That's  the  trouble, "  said  Davis.  '  *  There's  only  one 
thing  certain :  it's  no  use  carting  this  old  glass  and  bal- 
last to  Peru.    No,  sir,  we're  in  a  hole." 

"Oh,  my!  and  the  merchant!"  cried  Huish;  "the 
298 


THE   PARTNERS 

man  that  made  this  shipment!  He'll  get  the  news  by 
the  mail  brigantine,  and  he'll  think  of  course  we're 
making  straight  for  Sydney." 

"Yes,  he'll  be  a  sick  merchant,"  said  the  captain. 
"  One  thing:  this  explains  the  Kanaka  crew.  If  you're 
going  to  lose  a  ship,  I  would  ask  no  better  myself  than 
a  Kanaka  crew.  But  there's  one  thing  it  don't  explain; 
it  don't  explain  why  she  came  down  Tahiti  ways." 

"  W'y,  to  lose  her,  you  byby!  "  said  Huish. 

*'A  lot  you  know,"  said  the  captain.  "Nobody 
wants  to  lose  a  schooner;  they  want  to  lose  her  on  her 
course,  you  skeesicks!  You  seem  to  think  under- 
writers haven't  got  enough  sense  to  come  in  out  of  the 
rain." 

"Well,"  said  Herrick,  "I  can  tell  you,  I  am  afraid, 
why  she  came  so  far  to  the  eastward.  I  had  it  of  Uncle 
Ned.  It  seems  these  two  unhappy  devils,  Wiseman 
and  Wishart,  were  drunk  on  the  champagne  from  the 
beginning,  and  died  drunk  at  the  end." 

The  captain  looked  on  the  table. 

"They  lay  in  their  two  bunks,  or  sat  here  in  this 
damned  house,"  he  pursued,  with  rising  agitation, 
"filling  their  skins  with  the  accursed  stuff,  till  sickness 
took  them.  As  they  sickened,  and  the  fever  rose,  they 
drank  the  more.  They  lay  here  howling  and  groaning, 
drunk  and  dying,  all  in  one.  They  didn't  know  where 
they  were;  they  didn't  care.  They  didn't  even  take 
the  sun,  it  seems." 

"Not  take  the  sun!"  cried  the  captain,  looking  up. 
"Sacred  Billy!  what  a  crowd! " 

"Well,  it  don't  matter  to  Joe! "  said  Huish.  "Wot 
are  Wiseman  and  the  t'other  buffer  to  us  }  " 

299 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

** A  good  deal,  too,"  said  the  captain.  ''We're  their 
heirs,  I  guess." 

*Mt  is  a  great  inheritance,"  said  Herrick. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  returned  Davis. 
"  Appears  to  me  as  if  it  might  be  worse.  T  ain't  what 
the  cargo  would  have  been,  of  course;  at  least,  not  money 
down.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  it  appears  to  figure  up  to. 
Appears  to  me  as  if  it  amounted  to  about  the  bottom 
dollar  of  the  man  in  'Frisco." 

' '  'Old  on, "  said  Huish.  ' '  Give  a  fellow  time.  'O w's 
this,  umpire.?" 

"Well,  my  sons," pursued  the  captain,  who  seemed 
to  have  recovered  his  assurance,  "Wiseman  and  Wish- 
art  were  to  be  paid  for  casting  away  this  old  schooner 
and  its  cargo.  We're  going  to  cast  away  the  schooner 
right  enough,  and  I'll  make  it  my  private  business  to  see 
that  we  get  paid.  What  were  W.  and  W.  to  get  ?  That's 
more'n  I  can  tell.  But  W.  and  W.  went  into  this  busi- 
ness themselves;  they  were  on  the  crook.  Now  we're 
on  the  square;  we  only  stumbled  into  it;  and  that  mer- 
chant has  just  got  to  squeal,  and  I'm  the  man  to  see  that 
he  squeals  good.  No,  sir/  there's  some  stuffing  to  this 
Farallone  racket,  after  all." 

"Go it, Cap! "cried Huish.  "Yoicks!  Forrard!  'Old 
'ard!  There's  your  style  for  the  money!  Blow  me  if  I 
don't  prefer  this  to  the  bother." 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Herrick.  "I  have  to  ask 
you  to  excuse  me;  1  do  not  understand." 

"Well,  now,  see  here,  Herrick,"  said  Davis.  "I'm 
going  to  have  a  word  with  you,  any  v/ay,  upon  a  dif- 
ferent matter,  and  it's  good  that  Huish  should  hear  it 
too.     We're  done  with  this  boozing  business,  and  we 

300 


THE   PARTNERS 

ask  your  pardon  for  it  right  here  and  now.  We  have 
to  thank  you  for  all  you  did  for  us  while  we  were  mak- 
ing hogs  of  ourselves.  You'll  find  me  turn  to  all  right 
in  future;  and  as  for  the  wine,  which  I  grant  we  stole 
from  you,  I'll  take  stock  and  see  you  paid  for  it.  That's 
good  enough,  I  believe.  But  what  I  want  to  point  out 
to  you  is  this.  The  old  game  was  a  risky  game.  The 
new  game's  as  safe  as  running  a  Vienna  bakery.  We 
just  put  this  Farallone  before  the  wind,  and  run  till 
we're  well  to  leeward  of  our  port  of  departure,  and  rea- 
sonably well  up  with  some  other  place  where  they  have 
an  American  consul.  Down  goes  the  Farallone,  and 
good-by  to  her!  A  day  or  so  in  the  boat;  the  consul 
packs  us  home,  at  Uncle  Sam's  expense,  to  'Frisco;  and 
if  that  merchant  don't  put  the  dollars  down,  you  come 
to  me!" 

**But  I  thought — "  began  Herrick;  and  then  broke 
out,  "Oh,  let's  get  on  to  Peru!" 

**  Well,  if  you're  going  to  Peru  for  your  health,  I  won't 
say  no, "  replied  the  captain.  * '  But  for  what  other  blame' 
shadow  of  a  reason  you  should  want  to  go  there,  gets 
me  clear.  We  don't  want  to  go  there  with  this  cargo. 
I  don't  know  as  old  bottles  is  a  lively  article  anywheres ; 
leastways  I'll  go  my  bottom  cent  it  ain't  in  Peru.  It 
was  always  a  doubt  if  we  could  sell  the  schooner;  I 
never  rightly  hoped  to,  and  now  I'm  sure  she  ain't  worth 
a  hill  of  beans.  What's  wrong  with  her,  I  don't  know. 
I  only  know  it's  something,  or  she  wouldn't  be  here 
with  this  truck  in  her  inside.  Then,  again,  if  we  lose 
her,  and  land  in  Peru,  where  are  we  }  We  can't  declare 
the  loss,  or  how  did  we  get  to  Peru  ?  In  that  case  the 
merchant  can't  touch  the  insurance;  most  likely  he'll  go 

301 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

bust;  and  don't  you  think  you  see  the  three  of  us  on  the 
beach  of  Callao  ?  " 

**  There's  no  extradition  there,"  said  Herrick. 

''Well,  my  son,  and  we  want  to  be  extradished,"  said 
the  captain.  "  What's  our  point  ?  We  want  to  have  a 
consul  extradish  us  as  far  as  San  Francisco  and  that  mer- 
chant's office  door.  My  idea  is  that  Samoa  would  be 
found  an  eligible  business  centre.  It's  dead  before  the 
wind ;  the  States  have  a  consul  there,  and  'Frisco  steam- 
ers call,  so's  we  could  skip  right  back  and  interview  the 
merchant." 

*'  Samoa  ?  "  said  Herrick.  "  It  will  take  us  forever  to 
get  there." 

'* Oh,  with  a  fair  wind! "  said  the  captain. 

*'No  trouble  about  the  log,  eh  }  "  asked  Huish. 

''No,  sir/'  said  Davis.  ''Light  airs  and  baffling 
winds.  Squalls  and  calms.  D.  R.:  five  miles.  No 
obs.  Pumps  attended.  And  fill  in  the  barometer 
and  thermometer  off  of  last  year's  trip.  *  Never  saw 
such  a  voyage,'  says  you  to  the  consul.  'Thought  I 
was  going  to  run  short — '"  He  stopped  in  mid- 
career.  "Say,"  he  began  again,  and  once  more 
stopped.  "  Beg  your  pardon,  Herrick,"  he  added,  with 
undisguised  humility,  "but  did  you  keep  the  run  of 
the  stores  }  " 

"  Had  I  been  told  to  do  so,  it  should  have  been  done, 
as  the  rest  was  done,  to  the  best  of  my  little  ability, " 
said  Herrick.  "As  it  was,  the  cook  helped  himself  to 
what  he  pleased." 

Davis  looked  at  the  table. 

' '  I  drew  it  rather  fine,  you  see, "  he  said  at  last.  ' '  The 
great  thing  was  to  clear  right  out  of  Papeete  before  the 

302 


THE  PARTNERS 

consul  could  think  better  of  it.  Tell  you  what, —  I  guess 
I'll  take  stock." 

And  he  rose  from  the  table,  and  disappeared  with  a 
lamp  in  the  lazaretto. 

**  'Ere's  another  screw  loose,"  observed  Huish. 

*'My  man,"  said  Herrick,  with  a  sudden  gleam  of 
animosity,  *'it  is  still  your  watch  on  deck,  and  surely 
your  wheel  also?" 

"You  come  the  'eavy  swell,  don't  you,  ducky?" 
said  Huish.  "Stand  away  from  that  binnacle.  ' Surely 
your  w'eel,  my  man.'     Yah!  " 

He  lit  a  cigar  ostentatiously,  and  strolled  into  the  waist 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

In  a  surprisingly  short  time  the  captain  reappeared; 
he  did  not  look  at  Herrick,  but  called  Huish  back  and 
sat  down. 

"Well,"  he  began,  "I've  taken  stock — roughly." 
He  paused,  as  if  for  somebody  to  help  him  out;  and, 
none  doing  so,  both  gazing  on  him  instead  with  mani- 
fest anxiety,  he  yet  more  heavily  resumed:  "Well,  it 
won't  fight.  We  can't  do  it;  that's  the  bed-rock.  I'm 
as  sorry  as  what  you  can  be,  and  sorrier.  But  the 
game's  up.  We  can't  look  near  Samoa.  I  don't  know 
as  we  could  get  to  Peru." 

"  Wot-ju  mean  ?  "  asked  Huish,  brutally. 

"I  can't  most  tell  myself,"  replied  the  captain.  "I 
drew  it  fine;  1  said  I  did;  but  what's  been  going  on  here 
gets  me!  Appears  as  if  the  devil  had  been  around. 
That  cook  must  be  the  holiest  kind  of  a  fraud.  Only 
twelve  days,  too!  Seems  like  craziness.  I'll  own  up 
square  to  one  thing:  I  seem  to  have  figured  too  fine  upon 
the  flour.     But  the  rest  —  my  land!    I'll  never  under- 

303 


THE   EBB   TIDE 

Stand  it!  There's  been  more  waste  on  this  two-penny 
ship  than  what  there  is  to  an  Atlantic  Liner."  He  stole 
a  glance  at  his  companions;  nothing  good  was  to  be 
gleaned  from  their  dark  faces ;  and  he  had  recourse  to 
rage.  **You  wait  until  I  interview  that  cook!"  he 
roared,  and  smote  the  table  with  his  fist.  "I'll  inter- 
view the  son  of  a  gun  as  he's  never  been  spoken  to  be- 
fore.     I'll  put  a  bead  upon  the !" 

''You  will  not  lay  a  finger  on  the  man,"  said  Herrick. 
*'  The  fault  is  yours,  and  you  know  it.  If  you  turn  a 
savage  loose  in  your  store-room,  you  know  what  to  ex- 
pect.    I  will  not  allow  the  man  to  be  molested." 

It  is  hard  to  say  how  Davis  might  have  taken  this  de- 
fiance, but  he  was  diverted  to  a  fresh  assailant. 

"Well!  "  drawled  Huish,  "you're  a  plummy  captain, 
ain't  you  ?  You're  a  blooming  captain !  Don't  you  set 
up  any  of  your  chat  to  me,  John  Dyvis.  I  know  you 
now;  you  ain't  any  more  use  than  a  bloomin'  dawl! 
Oh,  you  'don't  know,'  don't  you?  Oh,  it  'gets  you,' 
do  it?  Oh,  I  dessay!  W'y,  weren't  you  'owling  for 
fresh  tins  every  blessed  day  ?  'Ow  often  'ave  I  'eard 
you  send  the  'ole  bloomin'  dinner  off,  and  tell  the  man 
to  chuck  it  in  the  swill-tub  ?  And  breakfast  ?  Oh,  my 
crikey!  Breakfast  for  ten,  and  you  'ollerin'  for  more! 
And  now  you  '  can't  most  tell ' !  Blow  me  if  it  ain't 
enough  to  make  a  man  write  an  insultin'  letter  to  Gawd! 
You  dror  it  mild,  John  Dyvis.  Don't  'andle  me;  I'm 
dyngerous." 

Davis  sat  like  one  bemused;  it  might  even  have  been 
doubted  if  he  heard.  But  the  voice  of  the  clerk  rang 
about  the  cabin  like  that  of  a  cormorant  among  the 
ledges  of  a  cliff. 

304 


THE   PARTNERS 

**That  will  do,  Huish,"  said  Herrick. 

**  Oh,  so  you  tyke  his  part,  do  you,  you  stuck-up,  sneer- 
in'  snob?  Tyke  it,  then.  Come  on,  the  pair  of  you! 
But  as  for  John  Dyvis,  let  him  look  out!  He  struck  me 
the  first  night  aboard,  and  I  never  took  a  blow  yet  but 
wot  1  gave  as  good.  Let  him  knuckle  down  on  his  mar- 
rowbones and  beg  my  pardon;  that's  my  last  word! " 

' '  I  stand  by  the  captain, "  said  Herrick.  *  *  That  makes 
us  two  to  one,  both  good  men ;  and  the  crew  will  all 
follow  me.  I  hope  I  shall  die  very  soon ;  but  I  have  not 
the  least  objection  to  killing  you  before  I  go.  I  should 
prefer  it  so.  1  should  do  it  with  no  more  remorse  than 
winking.     Take  care,  take  care,  you  little  cad !  " 

The  animosity  with  which  these  words  were  uttered 
was  so  marked  in  itself,  and  so  remarkable  in  the  man 
who  uttered  them,  that  Huish  stared,  and  even  the  hu- 
miliated Davis  reared  up  his  head  and  gazed  at  his  de- 
fender. As  for  Herrick,  the  successive  agitations  and 
disappointments  of  the  day  had  left  him  wholly  reckless; 
he  was  conscious  of  a  pleasant  glow,  an  agreeable  ex- 
citement. His  head  seemed  empty ;  his  eyeballs  burned 
as  he  turned  them ;  his  throat  was  dry  as  a  biscuit.  The 
least  dangerous  man  by  nature,  except  in  so  far  as  the 
weak  are  always  dangerous,  at  that  moment  he  was 
ready  to  slay  or  be  slain,  with  equal  unconcern. 

Here,  at  least,  was  the  gage  thrown  down,  and  battle 
offered.  He  who  should  speak  next  would  bring  the 
matter  to  an  issue  there  and  then.  All  knew  it  to  be  so, 
and  hung  back ;  and  for  many  seconds  by  the  cabin  clock 
the  trio  sat  motionless  and  silent. 

Then  came  an  interruption,  welcome  as  the  flowers 
in  May. 

305 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

"Land  ho!"  sang  out  a  voice  on  deck.  '*Land  a 
weatha  bow ! " 

'  *  Land !  "  cried  Davis,  springing  to  his  feet.  *  *  What's 
this  ?    There  ain't  no  land  here." 

And,  as  men  may  run  from  the  chamber  of  a  mur- 
dered corpse,  the  three  ran  forth  out  of  the  house,  and 
left  their  quarrel  behind  them,  undecided. 

The  sky  shaded  down  at  the  sea  level  to  the  white  of 
opal;  the  sea  itself,  insolently,  inkily  blue,  drew  all  about 
them  the  uncompromising  wheel  of  the  horizon.  Search 
it  as  they  pleased,  not  even  the  practised  eye  of  Captain 
Davis  could  descry  the  smallest  interruption.  A  few 
filmy  clouds  were  slowly  melting  overhead ;  and  about 
the  schooner,  as  around  the  only  point  of  interest,  a  tropic 
bird,  white  as  a  snowflake,  hung  and  circled,  and  dis- 
played, as  it  turned,  the  long  vermilion  feather  of  its 
tail.     Save  the  sea  and  the  heaven,  that  was  all. 

"Who  sang  out  land.?"  asked  Davis.  "If  there's 
any  boy  playing  funny-dog  with  me,  I'll  teach  him  sky- 
larking! " 

But  Uncle  Ned  contentedly  pointed  to  a  part  of  the 
horizon  where  a  greenish,  filmy  iridescence  could  be 
discerned,  floating  like  smoke  on  the  pale  heavens. 

Davis  applied  his  glass  to  it,  and  then  looked  at  the 
Kanaka.  ' '  Call  that  land  ?  "  said  he.  ' '  Well,  it's  more 
than  I  do! " 

"Onetime,  long  ago," said  Uncle  Ned,  "I  see  Anaa 
all-e-same  that,  four,  five  hours  befo'  we  come  up. 
Capena  he  say  sun  go  down,  sun  go  up  again ;  he  say 
lagoon  all-e-same*milla." 

"All-e-same  what?  '*  asked  Davis. 

"Milla,  sah,"  said  Uncle  Ned. 
306 


THE  PARTNERS 

"Oh,  ah!  mirror,"  said  Davis.  "I  see, —  reflection 
from  the  lagoon.  Well,  you  know,  it  is  just  possible, 
though  it's  strange  I  never  heard  of  it.  Here,  let's  look 
at  the  chart." 

They  went  back  to  the  cabin,  and  found  the  position 
of  the  schooner  well  to  windward  of  the  archipelago,  in 
the  midst  of  a  white  field  of  paper. 

**  There,  you  see  for  yourselves!  "  said  Davis. 

*'  And  yet  I  don't  know,"  said  Herrick;  *'  I  somehow 
think  there's  something  in  it.  I'll  tell  you  one  thing, 
too,  captain:  that's  all  right  about  the  reflection;  I 
heard  it  in  Papeete." 

'*  Fetch  up  that  Findlay,  then!  "  said  Davis;  *'  I'll  try 
it  all  ways.  An  island  wouldn't  come  amiss  the  way 
we're  fixed." 

The  bulky  volume  was  handed  up  to  him,  broken- 
backed,  as  is  the  way  with  Findlay ;  and  he  turned  to 
the  place,  and  began  to  run  over  the  text,  muttering  to 
himself,  and  turning  over  the  pages  with  a  wetted 
finger. 

''Hullo!"  he  exclaimed;  *' how's  this?"  And  he 
read  aloud :  ''  New  Island.  According  to  M.  Delille, 
this  island,  which  from  private  interests  would  remain 
unknown,  lies,  it  is  said,  in  latitude  12*^  49'  10"  south, 
longitude  133^  6'  west.  In  addition  to  the  position 
above  given,  Commander  Matthews,  H.  M.  S.  Scorpion, 
states  that  an  island  exists  in  latitude  12  o'  south,  lon- 
gitude 133*^  16'  west.  This  must  be  the  same,  if  such 
an  island  exists,  which  is  very  doubtful,  and  totally  dis- 
believed in  by  South  Sea  traders." 

''Golly!"  said  Huish. 

"It's  rather  in  the  conditional  mood,"  said  Herrick. 
307 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

"It's  anything  you  please,"  cried  Davis,  **only  there 
it  is !  That's  our  place,  and  don't  you  make  any  mis- 
take." 

"'Which  from  private  interests  would  remain  un- 
known,'" read  Herrick,  over  his  shoulder.  "What 
may  that  mean  ?  " 

"It  should  mean  pearls,"  said  Davis.  "A  pearling 
island  the  government  don't  know  about.  That  sounds 
like  real  estate.  Or  suppose  it  don't  mean  anything. 
Suppose  it's  just  an  island;  I  guess  we  could  fill  up 
with  fish  and  cocoanuts  and  native  stuff,  and  carry  out 
the  Samoa  scheme  hand  over  fist.  How  long  did  he 
say  it  was  before  they  raised  Anaa  ?  Five  hours,  I 
think." 

"  Four  or  five,"  said  Herrick. 

Davis  stepped  to  the  door.  "  What  breeze  had  you 
that  time  you  made  Anaa,  Uncle  Ned  ?  "  said  he. 

"Six  or  seven  knots,"  was  the  reply. 

"Thirty  or  thirty-five  miles,"  said  Davis.  "High 
time  we  were  shortening  sail,  then.  If  it  is  an  island, 
we  don't  want  to  be  butting  our  head  against  it  in  the 
dark ;  and  if  it  isn't  an  island,  we  can  get  through  it 
just  as  well  by  daylight.     Ready  about ! "  he  roared. 

And  the  schooner's  head  was  laid  for  that  elusive 
glimmer  in  the  sky,  which  began  already  to  pale  in 
lustre  and  diminish  in  size,  as  the  stain  of  breath  van- 
ishes from  a  window-pane.  At  the  same  time  she  was 
reefed  close  down. 


308 


PART  II 

THE  aUARTETTE 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  PEARL  FISHER 

ABOUT  four  in  the  morning,  as  the  captain  and  Her- 
L  rick  sat  together  on  the  rail,  there  arose  from  the 
midst  of  the  night,  in  front  of  them,  the  voice  of 
breakers.  Each  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stared  and  lis- 
tened. The  sound  was  continuous,  like  the  passing  of 
a  train ;  no  rise  or  fall  could  be  distinguished ;  minute 
by  minute  the  ocean  heaved  with  an  equal  potency 
against  the  invisible  isle;  and  as  time  passed,  and  Her- 
rick  waited  in  vain  for  any  vicissitude  in  the  volume  of 
that  roaring,  a  sense  of  the  eternal  weighed  upon  his 
mind.  To  the  expert  eye,  the  isle  itself  was  to  be  in- 
ferred from  a  certain  string  of  blots  along  the  starry 
heaven.  And  the  schooner  was  laid  to  and  anxiously 
observed  till  daylight. 

There  was  little  or  no  morning  bank.  A  brightening 
came  in  the  east;  then  a  wash  of  some  ineffable,  faint, 
nameless  hue  between  crimson  and  silver;  and  then 
coals  of  fire.  These  glimmered  awhile  on  the  sea-line, 
and  seemed  to  brighten  and  darken  and  spread  out; 
and  still  the  night  and  the  stars  reigned  undisturbed.  It 
was  as  though  a  spark  should  catch  and  glow  and  creep 
along  the  foot  of  some  heavy  and  almost  incombustible 

5i» 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

wall-hanging,  and  the  room  itself  be  scarce  menaced. 
Yet  a  little  after,  and  the  whole  east  glowed  with  gold 
and  scarlet,  and  the  hollow  of  heaven  was  filled  with 
the  daylight. 

The  isle  —  the  undiscovered,  the  scarce  believed  in  — 
now  lay  before  them  and  close  aboard;  and  Herrick 
thought  that  never  in  his  dreams  had  he  beheld  any- 
thing more  strange  and  delicate.  The  beach  was  ex- 
cellently white,  the  continuous  barrier  of  trees  inimitably 
green;  the  land  perhaps  ten  feet  high,  the  trees  thirty 
more.  Every  here  and  there,  as  the  schooner  coasted 
northward,  the  wood  was  intermitted;  and  he  could 
see  clear  over  the  inconsiderable  strip  of  land  (as  a  man 
looks  over  a  wall)  to  the  lagoon  within ;  and  clear  over 
that,  again,  to  where  the  far  side  of  the  atoll  prolonged 
its  pencilling  of  trees  against  the  morning  sky.  He 
tortured  himself  to  find  analogies.  The  isle  was  like 
the  rim  of  a  great  vessel  sunken  in  the  waters ;  it  was 
like  the  embankment  of  an  annular  railway  grown  upon 
with  wood.  So  slender  it  seemed  amidst  the  outra- 
geous breakers,  so  frail  and  pretty,  he  would  scarce 
have  wondered  to  see  it  sink  and  disappear  without  a 
sound,  and  the  waves  close  smoothly  over  its  descent. 

Meanwhile  the  captain  was  in  the  fore-crosstrees, 
glass  in  hand,  his  eyes  in  every  quarter,  spying  for  an 
entrance,  spying  for  signs  of  tenancy.  But  the  isle  con- 
tinued to  unfold  itself  in  joints  and  to  run  out  in  inde- 
terminate capes,  and  still  there  was  neither  house  nor 
man  nor  the  smoke  of  fire.  Here  a  multitude  of  sea- 
birds  soared  and  twinkled  and  fished  in  the  blue  waters ; 
and  there,  and  for  miles  together,  the  fringe  of  cocoa- 
palm  and  pandanus  extended  desolate,  and  made  desir- 


THE  PEARL  FISHER 

able  green  bowers  for  nobody  to  visit;  and  the  silence 
of  death  was  only  broken  by  the  throbbing  of  the  sea. 

The  airs  were  very  light,  their  speed  was  small;  the 
heat  intense.  The  decks  were  scorching  underfoot;  the 
sun  flamed  overhead,  brazen  out  of  a  brazen  sky;  the 
pitch  bubbled  in  the  seams,  and  the  brains  in  the  brain- 
pan. And  all  the  while  the  excitement  of  the  three  ad- 
venturers glowed  about  their  bones  like  a  fever.  They 
whispered  and  nodded  and  pointed  and  put  mouth  to 
ear  with  a  singular  instinct  of  secrecy,  approaching  that 
island  underhand,  like  eavesdroppers  and  thieves;  and 
even  Davis,  from  the  crosstrees,  gave  his  orders  mostly 
by  gestures.  The  hands  shared  in  this  mute  strain,  like 
dogs,  without  comprehending  it;  and  through  the  roar 
of  so  many  miles  of  breakers,  it  was  a  silent  ship  that 
approached  an  empty  island. 

At  last  they  drew  near  to  the  break  in  that  intermina- 
ble gangway.  A  spur  of  coral  sand  stood  forth  on  the 
one  hand ;  on  the  other,  a  high  and  thick  tuft  of  trees 
cut  off  the  view ;  between  was  the  mouth  of  the  huge 
laver.  Twice  a  day  the  ocean  crowded  in  that  narrow 
entrance  and  was  heaped  between  these  frail  walls; 
twice  a  day,  with  the  return  of  the  ebb,  the  mighty 
surplusage  of  water  must  struggle  to  escape.  The  hour 
in  which  the  FaraUone  came  there  was  the  hour  of 
flood.  The  sea  turned  (as  with  the  instinct  of  the  hom- 
ing pigeon)  for  the  vast  receptacle,  swept  eddying 
through  the  gates,  was  transmuted,  as  it  did  so,  into  a 
wonder  of  watery  and  silken  hues,  and  brimmed  into 
the  inland  sea  beyond.  The  schooner  worked  up,  close- 
hauled,  and  was  caught  and  carried  away  by  the  influx 
like  a  toy.     She  skimmed;  she  flew;  a  momentary 

313 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

shadow  touched  her  decks  from  the  shoreside  trees; 
the  bottom  of  the  channel  showed  up  for  a  moment, 
and  was  in  a  moment  gone;  the  next,  she  floated  on 
the  bosom  of  the  lagoon;  and  below,  in  the  transparent 
chamber  of  waters,  a  myriad  of  many-coloured  fishes 
were  sporting,  a  myriad  pale  flowers  of  coral  diversified 
the  floor. 

Herrick  stood  transported.  In  the  gratified  lust  of 
his  eye  he  forgot  the  past  and  the  present;  forgot  that 
he  was  menaced  by  a  prison  on  the  one  hand  and  star- 
vation on  the  other;  forgot  that  he  was  come  to  that 
island,  desperately  foraging,  clutching  at  expedients. 
A  drove  of  fishes,  painted  like  the  rainbow  and  billed 
like  parrots,  hovered  up  in  the  shadow  of  the  schooner, 
and  passed  clear  of  it,  and  glinted  in  the  submarine  sun. 
They  were  beautiful  like  birds,  and  their  silent  passage 
impressed  him  like  a  strain  of  song. 

Meanwhile,  to  the  eye  of  Davis  in  the  crosstrees,  the 
lagoon  continued  to  expand  its  empty  waters,  and  the 
long  succession  of  the  shoreside  trees  to  be  paid  out 
like  fishing-line  off  a  reel.  And  still  there  was  no  mark 
of  habitation.  The  schooner,  immediately  on  entering, 
had  been  kept  away  to  the  northward,  where  the  water 
seemed  to  be  the  most  deep ;  and  she  was  now  skim- 
ming past  the  tall  grove  of  trees,  which  stood  on  that 
side  of  the  channel  and  denied  further  view.  Of  the 
whole  of  the  low  shores  of  the  island,  only  this  bight 
remained  to  be  revealed.  And  suddenly  the  curtain 
was  raised;  they  began  to  open  out  a  haven,  snugly 
elbowed  there,  and  beheld,  with  an  astonishment  be- 
yond words,  the  roofs  of  men.  The  appearance,  thus 
**  instantaneously  disclosed  "  to  those  on  the  deck  of 

314 


THE  PEARL  FISHER 

the  FaraUone,  was  not  that  of  a  city,  rather  of  a  sub- 
stantial country  farm  with  its  attendant  hamlet, — a  long 
line  of  sheds  and  store-houses ;  apart,  upon  the  one  side, 
a  deep-verandahed  dwelling-house;  on  the  other,  per- 
haps a  dozen  native  huts,  a  building  with  a  belfry  and 
some  rude  offer  at  architectural  features  that  might  be 
thought  to  mark  it  out  for  a  chapel;  on  the  beach  in 
front,  some  heavy  boats  drawn  up,  and  a  pile  of  timber 
running  forth  into  the  burning  shallows  of  the  lagoon. 
From  a  flag-staff  at  the  pierhead,  the  red  ensign  of 
England  was  displayed.  Behind,  about,  and  over,  the 
same  tall  grove  of  palms  which  had  masked  the  settle- 
ment in  the  beginning,  prolonged  its  roof  of  tumultuous 
green  fans,  and  tossed  and  ruffled  overhead,  and  sang 
its  silver  song  all  day  in  the  wind.  The  place  had  the 
indescribable  but  unmistakable  appearance  of  being  in 
commission,  yet  there  breathed  from  it  a  sense  of  de- 
sertion that  was  almost  poignant;  no  human  figure  was 
to  be  observed  going  to  and  fro  about  the  houses,  and 
there  was  no  sound  of  human  industry  or  enjoyment. 
Only,  on  the  top  of  the  beach  and  hard  by  the  flag- 
staff, a  woman  of  exorbitant  stature  and  as  white  as 
snow  was  to  be  seen,  beckoning  with  uplifted  arm. 
The  second  glance  identified  her  as  a  piece  of  naval 
sculpture,  the  figure-head  of  a  ship  that  had  long  hov- 
ered and  plunged  into  so  many  running  billows,  and 
was  now  brought  ashore  to  be  the  ensign  and  presid- 
ing genius  of  that  empty  town. 

The  Farattone  made  a  soldier's  breeze  of  it ;  the  wind, 
besides,  was  stronger  inside  than  without  under  the  lee 
of  the  land ;  and  the  stolen  schooner  opened  out  suc- 
cessive objects  with  the  swiftness  of  a  panorama,  so 

3«5 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

that  the  adventurers  stood  speechless.  The  flag  spoke 
for  itself;  it  was  no  frayed  and  weathered  trophy  that 
had  beaten  itself  to  pieces  on  the  post,  flying  over  deso- 
lation ;  and,  to  make  assurance  stronger,  there  was  to 
be  descried,  in  the  deep  shade  of  the  verandah,  a  glitter 
of  crystal  and  the  fluttering  of  white  napery.  If  the 
figure-head  at  the  pier  end,  with  its  perpetual  gesture 
and  its  leprous  whiteness,  reigned  alone  in  that  hamlet, 
as  it  seemed  to  do,  it  could  not  have  reigned  long. 
Men's  hands  had  been  busy,  men's  feet  stirring  there, 
within  the  circuit  of  the  clock.  The  Farallones  were 
sure  of  it;  their  eyes  dug  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
palms  for  some  one  hiding.  If  intensity  of  looking 
might  have  prevailed,  they  would  have  pierced  the 
walls  of  houses;  and  there  came  to  them,  in  these  preg- 
nant seconds,  a  sense  of  being  watched  and  played 
with,  and  of  a  blow  impending,  that  was  hardly  bear- 
able. 

The  extreme  point  of  palms  they  had  just  passed  en- 
closed a  creek,  which  was  thus  hidden  up  to  the  last 
moment  from  the  eyes  of  those  on  board ;  and  from  this 
a  boat  put  suddenly  and  briskly  out,  and  a  voice  hailed. 

*  *  Schooner  ahoy ! "  it  cried.  *  *  Stand  in  for  the  pier ! 
In  two  cables'  lengths  you'll  have  twenty  fathoms' 
water  and  good  holding-ground." 

The  boat  was  manned  with  a  couple  of  brown  oars- 
men in  scanty  kilts  of  blue.  The  speaker,  who  was 
steering,  wore  white  clothes,  the  full  dress  of  the  tropics. 
A  wide  hat  shaded  his  face;  but  it  could  be  seen  that  he 
was  of  stalwart  size,  and  his  voice  sounded  like  a  gen- 
tleman's. So  much  could  be  made  out.  It  was  plain, 
besides,  that  the  FaraUone  had  been  descried  some  time 

316 


THE  PEARL  FISHER 

before  at  sea,  and  the  inhabitants  were  prepared  for  its 
reception. 

Mechanically  the  orders  were  obeyed,  and  the  ship 
berthed ;  and  the  three  adventurers  gathered  aft  beside 
the  house  and  waited,  with  galloping  pulses  and  a  per- 
fect vacancy  of  mind,  the  coming  of  the  stranger  who 
might  mean  so  much  to  them.  They  had  no  plan,  no 
story  prepared,  there  was  no  time  to  make  one,  they 
were  caught  red-handed,  and  must  stand  their  chance. 
Yet  this  anxiety  was  checkered  with  hope.  The  island 
being  undeclared,  it  was  not  possible  the  man  could 
hold  any  office  or  be  in  a  position  to  demand  their 
papers.  An-d  beyond  that,  if  there  was  any  truth  in 
Findlay,  as  it  now  seemed  there  should  be,  he  was  the 
representative  of  the  ''private  reasons;"  and  must  see 
their  coming  with  a  profound  disappointment;  and 
perhaps  (hope  whispered)  he  would  be  willing  and  able 
to  purchase  their  silence. 

The  boat  was  by  that  time  forging  alongside,  and 
they  were  able  at  last  to  see  what  manner  of  man  they 
had  to  do  with.  He  was  a  huge  fellow,  six  feet  four  in 
height,  and  of  a  build  proportionately  strong,  but  his 
sinews  seemed  to  be  dissolved  in  a  listlessness  that  was 
more  than  languor.  It  was  only  the  eye  that  corrected 
this  impression, —  an  eye  of  an  unusual  mingled  bril- 
liancy and  softness,  sombre  as  coal,  and  with  lights  that 
outshone  the  topaz;  an  eye  of  unimpaired  health  and  vi- 
rility ;  an  eye  that  bid  you  beware  of  the  man's  devastat- 
ing anger.  A  com  plexion  naturally  dark  had  been  tanned 
in  the  island  to  a  hue  hardly  distinguishable  from  that  of 
a  Tahitian ;  only  his  manners  and  movements,  and  the 
living  force  that  dwelt  in  him,  like  fire  in  flint,  betrayed 

3J7 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

the  European.  He  was  dressed  in  white  drill,  exqui- 
sitely made;  his  scarf  and  tie  were  of  tender  coloured 
silks;  on  the  thwart  beside  him  there  leaned  a  Win- 
chester rifle. 

**Is  the  doctor  on  board  ?"  he  cried,  as  he  came  up. 
"Doctor  Symonds,  I  mean?  You  never  heard  of 
him  ?  Nor  yet  of  the  Trinity  Hall  ?  Ah !  "  He  did 
not  look  surprised ;  seemed,  rather,  to  affect  it  in  polite- 
ness; but  his  eye  rested  on  each  of  the  three  white  men 
in  succession  with  a  sudden  weight  of  curiosity  that 
was  almost  savage.  ''Ah,  then/' sM  he,  ''there  is 
some  small  mistake,  no  doubt,  and  I  must  ask  you  to 
what  I  am  indebted  for  this  pleasure  ?  " 

He  was  by  this  time  on  the  deck,  but  he  had  the  art 
to  be  quite  unapproachable;  the  friendliest  vulgarian, 
three  parts  drunk,  would  have  known  better  than  take 
liberties ;  and  not  one  of  the  adventurers  so  much  as 
offered  to  shake  hands. 

"Well,"  said  Davis,  "I  suppose  you  may  call  it  an 
accident.  We  had  heard  of  your  island,  and  read  that 
thing  in  the  '  Directory  '  about  the  private  reasons,  you 
see;  so  when  we  saw  the  lagoon  reflected  in  the  sky, 
we  put  her  head  for  it  at  once,  and  here  we  are." 

'"Ope  we  don't  intrude!  "  said  Huish. 

The  stranger  looked  at  Huish  with  an  air  of  faint 
surprise,  and  looked  pointedly  away  again.  It  was  hard 
to  be  more  offensive  in  dumb  show. 

"  It  may  suit  me,  your  coming  here,"  he  said.  "My 
own  schooner  is  overdue,  and  I  may  put  something  in 
your  way  in  the  mean  time.  Are  you  open  to  a  char- 
ter?" 

"Well,  I  guess  so,"  said  Davis;  "it  depends," 
318 


THE   PEARL   FISHER 

**My  name  is  Attwater,"  continued  the  stranger. 
**  You,  I  presume,  are  the  captain  ?" 

*'Yes,  sir.  I  am  the  captain  of  this  ship.  Captain 
Brown,"  was  the  reply. 

**WelI,  see  'ere!"  said  Huish,  ''better  begin  fair! 
'E's  skipper  on  deck  right  enough,  but  not  below.  Be- 
low we're  all  equal,  all  got  a  lay  in  the  adventure. 
When  it  comes  to  business,  I'm  as  good  as  'e;  and 
what  I  say  is,  let's  go  into  the  'ouse  and  have  a  lush, 
and  talk  it  over  among  pals.  We've  some  prime  fizz," 
he  said,  and  winked. 

The  presence  of  the  gentleman  lighted  up  like  a  can- 
dle the  vulgarity  of  the  clerk ;  and  Herrick,  instinctive- 
ly, as  one  shields  himself  from  pain,  made  haste  to  in- 
terrupt. 

"My  name  is  Hay,"  said  he,  "since  introductions 
are  going.  We  shall  be  very  glad  if  you  will  step  in- 
side." 

Attwater  leaned  to  him  swiftly.  "  University  man  ?  " 
said  he. 

"Yes,  Merton,"  said  Herrick,  and  the  next  moment 
blushed  scarlet  at  his  indiscretion. 

"1  am  of  the  other  lot,"  said  Attwater;  "Trinity 
Hall,  Cambridge.  I  called  my  schooner  after  the  old 
shop.  Well!  this  is  a  queer  place  and  company  for  us 
to  meet  in,  Mr.  Hay,"  he  pursued,  with  easy  incivility 
to  the  others.  "  But  do  you  bear  out  —  1  beg  this  gen- 
tleman's pardon,  I  really  did  not  catch  his  name." 

"My  name  is  'Uish,  sir,"  returned  the  clerk,  and 
blushed  in  turn. 

"Ah!"  said  Attwater.  And  then  turning  again  to 
Herrick,  "  Do  you  bear  out  Mr.  Whish's  description  of 

^^9 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

your  vintage,  or  was  it  only  the  unafifected  poetry  of  his 
own  nature  bubbling  up  ?  " 

Herrick  was  embarrassed ;  the  silken  brutality  of  their 
visitor  made  him  blush.  That  he  should  be  accepted 
as  an  equal,  and  the  others  thus  pointedly  ignored, 
pleased  him  in  spite  of  himself,  and  then  ran  through 
his  veins  in  a  recoil  of  anger. 

'*!  don't  know,"  he  said.  **It's  only  California;  it's 
good  enough,  I  believe." 

Attwater  seemed  to  make  up  his  mind.  "Well, 
then,  I'll  tell  you  what:  you  three  gentlemen  come 
ashore  this  evening,  and  bring  a  basket  of  wine  with 
you;  I'll  try  and  find  the  food,"  he  said.  ''And  by  the 
by,  here  is  a  question  I  should  have  asked  you  when  I 
came  on  board:  Have  you  had  small-pox ?" 

** Personally,  no,"  said  Herrick.  "But  the  schooner 
had  it." 

"  Deaths  ?  "  from  Attwater. 

"Two,"  said  Herrick. 

"Well,  it  is  a  dreadful  sickness,"  said  Attwater. 

"'Ad  you  any  deaths,"  asked  Huish,  "'ere  on  the 
island?" 

"Twenty-nine,"  said  Attwater.  "Twenty-nine 
deaths  and  thirty-one  cases,  out  of  thirty-three  souls 
upon  the  island.  That's  a  strange  way  to  calculate, 
Mr.  Hay,  is  it  not  ?  Souls !  I  never  say  it  but  it  startles 
me." 

"Oh,  so  that's  why  everything's  deserted?"  said 
Huish. 

"That  is  why,  Mr.  Whish,"  said  Attwater;  "that  is 
why  the  house  is  empty  and  the  graveyard  full." 

"  Twenty-nine  out  of  thirty-three ! "  exclaimed  Her- 
320 


THE  PEARL  FISHER 

rick.  *'Why,  when  it  came  to  burying  —  or  did  you 
bother  burying  ?  " 

"Scarcely,"  said  Attwater;  **or  there  was  one  day, 
at  least,  when  we  gave  up.  There  were  five  of  the 
dead  that  morning,  and  thirteen  of  the  dying,  and  no 
one  able  to  go  about  except  the  sexton  and  myself. 
We  held  a  council  of  war,  took  the  —  empty  bottles  — 
into  the  lagoon,  and  —  buried  them."  He  looked  over 
his  shoulder,  back  at  the  bright  water.  "Well,  so 
you'll  come  to  dinner,  then  ?  Shall  we  say  half-past 
six?    So  good  of  you!" 

His  voice,  in  uttering  these  conventional  phrases,  fell 
at  once  into  the  false  measure  of  society ;  and  Herrick 
unconsciously  followed  the  example. 

"I  am  sure  we  shall  be  very  glad,"  he  said.  "At 
half-past  six  ?    Thank  you  so  very  much." 

*'  '  For  my  voice  has  been  tuned  to  the  note  of  the  gun, 
That  startles  the  deep  when  the  combat's  begun,'  " 

quoted  Attwater,  with  a  smile,  which  instantly  gave 
way  to  an  air  of  funereal  solemnity.  "I  shall  particu- 
larly expect  Mr.  Whish,"  he  continued.  "Mr.  Whish, 
I  trust  you  understand  the  invitation  ?  " 

"I  believe  you,  my  boy!"  replied  the  genial  Huish. 

"That  is  right,  then;  and  quite  understood,  is  it 
not?"  said  Attwater.  "  Mr.  Whish  and  Captain  Brown 
at  six-thirty  without  fail;  and  you,  Hay,  at  four  sharp." 

And  he  called  his  boat. 

During  all  this  talk,  a  load  of  thought  or  anxiety 
had  weighed  upon  the  captain.  There  was  no  part  for 
which  nature  had  so  liberally  endowed  him  as  that  of 
the  genial  ship-captain.     But  to-day  he  was  silent  and 

321 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

abstracted.  Those  who  knew  him  could  see  that  he 
hearkened  close  to  every  syllable,  and  seemed  to  ponder 
and  try  it  in  balances.  It  would  have  been  hard  to  say 
what  look  there  was,  cold,  attentive,  and  sinister,  as  of 
a  man  maturing  plans,  which  still  brooded  over  the  un- 
conscious guest;  it  was  here,  it  was  there,  it  was  no- 
where; it  was  now  so  little  that  Herrick  chid  himself 
for  an  idle  fancy ;  and  anon  it  was  so  gross  and  palpa- 
ble that  you  could  say  every  hair  on  the  man's  head 
talked  mischief. 

He  woke  up  now,  as  with  a  start.  '*  You  were  talk- 
ing of  a  charter,"  said  he. 

''Was  I  ?  "  said  Attwater.  **  Well,  let's  talk  of  it  no 
more  at  present." 

'*Your  own  schooner  is  overdue,  I  understand?" 
continued  the  captain. 

"You  understand  perfectly,  Captain  Brown,"  said 
Attwater;  ''thirty-three  days  overdue  at  noon  to-day." 

"She  comes  and  goes,  eh?  Flies  between  here 
and ?  "  hinted  the  captain. 

"  Exactly ;  every  four  months ;  three  trips  in  the  year," 
said  Attwater. 

"  You  go  in  her,  ever  ?  "  asked  Davis. 

"No,  I  stop  here,"  said  Attwater;  "  one  has  plenty  to 
attend  to  here." 

"Stop  here,  do  you?"  cried  Davis.  "Say,  how 
long  ?  " 

"How  long,  O  Lord!"  said  Attwater,  with  perfect, 
stern  gravity.  "But  it  does  not  seem  so,"  he  added, 
with  a  smile. 

"No,  I  dare  say  not,"  said  Davis.  "No,  I  suppose 
not.     Not  with  all  your  gods  about  you,  and  in  as  snug 

322 


THE  PEARL  FISHER 

a  berth  as  this.    For  it  is  a  pretty  snug  berth,"  said  he, 
with  a  sweeping  look. 

'*The  spot,  as  you  are  good  enough  to  indicate,  is 
not  entirely  intolerable,"  was  the  reply. 

'* Shell,  I  suppose?"  said  Davis. 

**  Yes,  there  was  shell,"  said  Attwater. 

"This  is  a  considerable  big  beast  of  a  lagoon,  sir," 
said  the  captain.  *'Was  there  a  —  was  the  fishing  — 
would  you  call  the  fishing  anyways  good? '' 

'M  don't  know  that  I  would  call  it  anyways  any- 
thing," said  Attwater,  *'if  you  put  it  to  me  direct." 

** There  were  pearls,  too?"  said  Davis. 

**  Pearls,  too,"  said  Attwater. 

**  Well,  I  give  out! "  laughed  Davis,  and  his  laughter 
ran  cracked  like  a  false  piece.  *'  If  you're  not  going  to 
tell,  you're  not  going  to  tell,  and  there's  an  end  to  it." 

**  There  can  be  no  reason  why  I  should  affect  the 
least  degree  of  secrecy  about  my  island,"  returned  Att- 
water. **That  came  wholly  to  an  end  with  your  ar- 
rival ;  and  I  am  sure  at  any  rate  that  gentlemen  like  you 
and  Mr.  Whish  I  should  have  always  been  charmed  to 
make  perfectly  at  home.  The  point  on  which  we  are 
now  differing  —  if  you  can  call  it  a  difference  —  is  one 
of  times  and  seasons.  I  have  some  information  which 
you  think  I  might  impart,  and  I  think  not.  Well,  we'll 
see  to-night!  By-by,  Whish!"  He  stepped  into  his 
boat  and  shoved  off.  **A11  understood,  then?"  said 
he.  '*The  captain  and  Mr.  Whish  at  six-thirty,  and 
you.  Hay,  at  four  precise.  You  understand  that.  Hay  ? 
Mind,  1  take  no  denial.  If  you're  not  there  by  the  time 
named,  there  will  be  no  banquet.  No  song,  no  supper, 
Mr.  Whish!" 

323 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

White  birds  whisked  in  the  air  above,  a  shoal  of  party- 
coloured  fishes  in  the  scarce  denser  medium  below; 
between,  like  Mahomet's  coffin,  the  boat  drew  away 
briskly  on  the  surface,  and  its  shadow  followed  it  over 
the  glittering  floor  of  the  lagoon.  Attwater  looked 
steadily  back  over  his  shoulders  as  he  sat;  he  did 
not  once  remove  his  eyes  from  the  Farattone  and  the 
group  on  her  quarter-deck  beside  the  house,  till  his 
boat  ground  upon  the  pier.  Thence,  with  an  agile  pace, 
he  hurried  ashore,  and  they  saw  his  white  clothes  shin- 
ing in  the  checkered  dusk  of  the  grove  until  the  house 
received  him. 

The  captain,  with  a  gesture  and  a  speaking  counte- 
nance, called  the  adventurers  into  the  cabin. 

**  Well,"  he  said  to  Herrick,  when  they  were  seated, 
"there's  one  good  job  at  least.  He's  taken  to  you  in 
earnest." 

''Why  should  that  be  a  good  job  }  "  said  Herrick. 

'*  Oh,  you'll  see  how  it  pans  out  presently,"  returned 
Davis.  ''You  go  ashore  and  stand  in  with  him,  that's 
all !  You'll  get  lots  of  pointers ;  you  can  find  out  what 
he  has,  and  what  the  charter  is,  and  who's  the  fourth 
man, — for  there's  four  of  them,  and  we're  only  three." 

"And  suppose  I  do,  what  next?"  cried  Herrick. 
"Answer  me  that!" 

"So  I  will,  Robert  Herrick,"  said  the  captain.  "  But 
first,  let's  see  all  clear.  I  guess  you  know,"  he  said 
with  an  imperious  solemnity,  "  I  guess  you  know  the 
bottom  is  about  out  of  this  Farattone  speculation  ?  I 
guess  you  know  it's  right  out;  and  if  this  old  island 
hadn't  turned  up  right  when  it  did,  I  guess  you  know 
where  you  and  I  and  Huish  would  have  been  ?" 

324 


THE  PEARL  FISHER 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  said  Herrick.  "No  matter  who's 
to  blame,  I  know  it.     And  what  next  ?  " 

"No  matter  who's  to  blame,  you  know  it,  right 
enough,"  said  the  captain,  "and  I'm  obliged  to  you  for 
the  reminder.  Now  here's  this  Attwater;  what  do  you 
think  of  him?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Herrick.  "I  am  attracted 
and  repelled.     He  was  insufferably  rude  to  you." 

"And  you,  Huish  ?"  said  the  captain. 

Huish  sat  cleaning  a  favourite  brier-root;  he  scarce 
looked  up  from  that  engrossing  task.  "Don't  ast  me 
what  I  think  of  him! "  he  said.  " There's  a  day  com- 
in',  I  pray  Gawd,  when  I  can  tell  it  him  myself" 

"Huish  means  the  same  as  what  I  do,"  said  Davis. 
"When  that  man  came  stepping  around,  and  saying: 
'Look  here,  I'm  Attwater' — and  you  knew  it  was  so, 
by  God!  —  I  sized  him  right  straight  up.  Here's  the 
real  article,  I  said,  and  I  don't  like  it;  here's  the  real, 
first-rate,  copper-bottomed  aristocrat.  'Aw/  don't 
know  ye,  do  I?  God  d — n  ye,  did  God  make  ye?  ' 
No,  that  couldn't  be  nothing  but  genuine;  a  man's  got 
to  be  born  to  that.  And  notice !  smart  as  champagne 
and  hard  as  nails;  no  kind  of  a  fool;  no,  sir!  not  a 
pound  of  him !  Well,  what's  he  here  upon  this  beastly 
island  for  ?  I  said.  He's  not  here  collecting  eggs.  He's 
a  palace  at  home,  and  powdered  flunkies;  and  if  he 
don't  stay  there,  you  bet  he  knows  the  reason  why ! 
Follow?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  *ear  you,"  said  Huish. 

"He's  been  doing  good  business  here,  then,"  con- 
tinued the  captain.  "For  years  he's  been  doing  a  great 
business.     It's  pearl  and  shell,  of  course;  there  couldn't 

325 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

be  nothing  else  in  such  a  place;  and  no  doubt  the  shell 
goes  off  regularly  by  this  Trinity  Hall,  and  the  money 
for  it  straight  into  the  bank,  so  that's  no  use  to  us.  But 
what  else  is  there  ?  Is  there  nothing  else  he  would  be 
likely  to  keep  here  ?  Is  there  nothing  else  he  would  be 
bound  to  keep  here?  Yes,  sir;  the  pearls!  First,  be- 
cause they're  too  valuable  to  trust  out  of  his  hands. 
Second,  because  pearls  want  a  lot  of  handling  and 
matching;  and  the  man  who  sells  his  pearls  as  they 
come  in,  one  here,  one  there,  instead  of  hanging  back 
and  holding  up  —  well,  that  man's  a  fool,  and  it's  not 
Attwater." 

*'It's  likely,"  said  Huish,  ''that's  w'at  it  is;  not 
proved,  but  likely." 

"It's  proved,"  said  Davis,  bluntly. 

"Suppose  it  was?"  said  Herrick.  "Suppose  that 
was  all  so,  and  he  had  these  pearls, — years'  and  years' 
collection  of  them  ?  Suppose  he  had  ?  There's  my 
question." 

The  captain  drummed  with  his  thick  hands  on  the 
board  in  front  of  him ;  he  looked  steadily  in  Herrick's 
face,  and  Herrick  as  steadily  looked  upon  the  table  and 
the  pattering  fingers.  There  was  a  gentle  oscillation 
of  the  anchored  ship,  and  a  big  patch  of  sunlight  trav- 
elled to  and  fro  between  one  and  the  other. 

"  Hear  me!  "  Herrick  burst  out  suddenly. 

"No,  you  better  hear  me  first,"  said  Davis.  "Hear 
me  and  understand  me.  We've,  got  no  use  for  that  fel- 
low, whatever  you  may  have.  He's  your  kind,  he's  not 
ours ;  he's  took  to  you,  and  he's  wiped  his  boots  on 
me  and  Huish.     Save  him  if  you  can! " 

"Save  him?"  repeated  Herrick. 
326 


THE  PEARL  FISHER 

"Save  him  if  you're  able!"  reiterated  Davis,  with  a 
blow  of  his  clinched  fist.  "Go  ashore,  and  talk  him 
smooth ;  and  if  you  get  him  and  his  pearls  aboard,  I'll 
spare  him.  If  you  don't,  there's  going  to  be  a  funeral. 
Is  that  so,  Huish  ?    Does  that  suit  you  ?  " 

"I  ain't  a  forgiving  man,"  said  Huish,  "but  I'm  not 
the  sort  to  spoil  business  neither.  Bring  the  bloke  on 
board,  and  his  pearls  along  with  him,  and  you  can  have 
it  your  own  way;  maroon  him  where  you  like  —  I'm 
agreeable." 

"Well,  and  if  I  can't  .^"  cried  Herrick,  while  the  sweat 
streamed  upon  his  face.  "You  talk  to  me  as  if  I  was 
God  Almighty,  to  do  this  and  that!    But  if  I  can't.?" 

"My  son,"  said  the  captain,  "you  better  do  your 
level  best,  or  you'll  see  sights! " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Huish.  "Oh,  crikey,  yes!"  He 
looked  across  at  Herrick  with  a  toothless  smile  that 
was  shocking  in  its  savagery;  and,  his  ear  caught  ap- 
parently by  the  trivial  expression  he  had  used,  he  broke 
into  a  piece  of  the  chorus  of  a  comic  song  which  he 
must  have  heard  twenty  years  before  in  London, — 
meaningless  gibberish  that,  in  that  hour  and  place, 
seemed  hateful  as  a  blasphemy :  '  *  Hikey,  pikey,  crikey, 
fikey,  chillingawallaba  dory." 

The  captain  suffered  him  to  finish ;  his  face  was  un- 
changed. 

"The  way  things  are,  there's  many  a  man  that 
wouldn't  let  you  go  ashore,"  he  resumed.  "But  I'm 
not  that  kind.  I  know  you'd  never  go  back  on  me, 
Herrick!  Or  if  you  choose  to  —  go  and  do  it,  and  be 
d — d  ! "  he  cried,  and  rose  abruptly  from  the  table. 

He  walked  out  of  the  house,  and,  as  he  reached  the 
327 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

door,  turned  and  called  Huish,  suddenly  and  violently, 
like  the  barking  of  a  dog.  Huish  followed,  and  Herrick 
remained  alone  in  the  cabin. 

''Now,  see  here,"  whispered  Davis;  **I  know  that 
man.  If  you  open  your  mouth  to  him  again,  you'll 
ruin  all." 


538 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BETTER  ACaUAINTANCE 

The  boat  was  gone  again,  and  already  halfway  to  the 
Farallone,  before  Herrick  turned  and  went  unwillingly 
up  the  pier.  From  the  crown  of  the  beach,  the  figure- 
head confronted  him  with  what  seemed  irony,  her  hel- 
meted  head  tossed  back,  her  formidable  arm  apparently 
hurling  something,  whether  shell  or  missile,  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  anchored  schooner.  She  seemed  a  defi- 
ant deity  from  the  island,  coming  forth  to  its  threshold 
with  a  rush  as  of  one  about  to  fly,  and  perpetuated  in 
that  dashing  attitude.  Herrick  looked  up  at  her,  where 
she  towered  above  him  head  and  shoulders,  with  sin- 
gular feelings  of  curiosity  and  romance,  and  suffered 
his  mind  to  travel  to  and  fro  in  her  life  history.  So  long 
she  had  been  the  blind  conductress  of  a  ship  among 
the  waves;  so  long  she  had  stood  here  idle  in  the  vio- 
lent sun  that  yet  did  not  avail  to  blister  her;  and  was 
even  this  the  end  of  so  many  adventures,  he  wondered, 
or  was  more  behind  ?  And  he  could  have  found  it  in  his 
heart  to  regret  that  she  was  not  a  goddess,  nor  yet  he  a 
pagan,  that  he  might  have  bowed  down  before  her  in 
that  hour  of  difficulty. 

Where  he  now  went  forward,  it  was  cool  with  the 
shadow  of  many  well-grown  palms ;  draughts  of  the 

329 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

dying  breeze  swung  them  together  overhead;  and  on 
all  sides,  with  a  swiftness  beyond  dragon-flies  or  swal- 
lows, the  spots  of  sunshine  flitted  and  hovered  and  re- 
turned. Underfoot,  the  sand  was  fairly  solid  and  quite 
level,  and  Merrick's  steps  fell  there  noiseless  as  in  new- 
fallen  snow.  It  bore  the  marks  of  having  been  once 
weeded  like  a  garden  alley  at  home;  but  the  pestilence 
had  done  its  work,  and  the  weeds  were  returning. 
The  buildings  of  the  settlement  showed  here  and  there 
through  the  stems  of  the  colonnade,  fresh-painted,  trim 
and  dandy,  and  all  silent  as  the  grave.  Only  here  and 
there  in  the  crypt  there  was  a  rustle  and  scurry  and 
some  crowing  of  poultry ;  and  from  behind  the  house 
with  the  verandahs  he  saw  smoke  rise  and  heard  the 
crackling  of  a  fire. 

The  store-houses  were  nearest  him  upon  his  right. 
The  first  was  locked ;  in  the  second  he  could  dimly  per- 
ceive, through  a  window,  a  certain  accumulation  of 
pearl  shell  piled  in  the  far  end ;  the  third,  which  stood 
gaping  open  on  the  afternoon,  seized  on  the  mind  of 
Herrick  with  its  multiplicity  and  disorder  of  romantic 
things.  Therein  were  cables,  windlasses,  and  blocks 
of  every  size  and  capacity ;  cabin  windows  and  ladders ; 
rusty  tanks;  a  companion  hatch;  a  binnacle  with  its 
brass  mountings,  and  its  compass  idly  pointing,  in  the 
confusion  and  dusk  of  that  shed,  to  a  forgotten  pole; 
ropes,  anchors,  harpoons ;  a  blubber-dipper  of  copper, 
green  with  years;  a  steering-wheel;  a  tool-chest  with 
the  vessel's  name  upon  the  top,  the  Asia, —  a  whole 
curiosity-shop  of  sea  curios,  gross  and  solid,  heavy  to 
lift,  ill  to  break,  bound  with  brass  and  shod  with  iron. 
Two  wrecks  at  least  must  have  contributed  to  this  ran- 

330 


BETTER  ACQUAINTANCE 

dom  heap  of  lumber;  and  as  Herrick  looked  upon  it,  it 
seemed  to  him  as  if  the  two  ships'  companies  were 
there  on  guard,  and  he  heard  the  tread  of  feet  and 
whisperings,  and  saw  with  the  tail  of  his  eye  the  com- 
monplace ghosts  of  sailormen. 

This  was  not  merely  the  work  of  an  aroused  imagi- 
nation, but  had  something  sensible  to  go  upon.  Sounds 
of  a  stealthy  approach  were  no  doubt  audible;  and 
while  he  still  stood  staring  at  the  lumber,  the  voice  of 
his  host  sounded  suddenly,  and  with  even  more  than 
the  customary  softness  of  enunciation,  from  behind. 

*'Junk,"  it  said  "only  old  junk!  And  does  Mr.  Hay 
find  a  parable  ?  " 

*'  I  find  at  least  a  strong  impression,"  replied  Herrick, 
turning  quickly,  lest  he  might  be  able  to  catch,  on  the 
face  of  the  speaker,  some  commentary  on  the  words. 

Attwater  stood  in  the  doorway,  which  he  almost 
wholly  filled,  his  hands  stretched  above  his  head  and 
grasping  the  architrave.  He  smiled  when  their  eyes  met, 
but  the  expression  was  inscrutable. 

**Yes,  a  powerful  impression.  You  are  like  me — 
nothing  so  affecting  as  ships!"  said  he.  **The  ruins 
of  an  empire  would  leave  me  frigid,  when  a  bit  of  an 
old  rail  that  an  old  shellback  leaned  on  in  the  middle 
watch  would  bring  me  up  all  standing.  But  come,  let's 
see  some  more  of  the  island.  It's  all  sand  and  coral 
and  palm-trees ;  but  there's  a  kind  of  quaintness  in  the 
place." 

''I  find  it  heavenly,"  said  Herrick,  breathing  deep, 
with  head  bared  in  the  shadow. 

"  Ah,  that's  because  you're  new  from  sea,"  said  Att- 
water.    "I  dare  say,  too,  you  can  appreciate  what  one 

331 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

calls  it.  It's  a  lovely  name.  It  has  a  flavour,  it  has  a 
colour,  it  has  a  ring  and  fall  to  it;  it's  like  its  author  — 
it's  half  Christian !  Remember  your  first  view  of  the 
island,  and  how  it's  only  woods  and  water;  and  sup- 
pose you  had  asked  somebody  for  the  name,  and  he 
had  answered,  nemorosa  Zacynthos. ' ' 

''Jam  medio  apparet  fluctu !  "  exclaimed  Herrick. 
**  Ye  gods!  yes,  how  good!" 

"If  it  gets  upon  the  chart,  the  skippers  will  make 
nice  work  of  it,"  said  Attwater.  *'But  here,  come  and 
see  the  diving-shed." 

He  opened  a  door,  and  Herrick  saw  a  large  display  of 
apparatus  neatly  ordered, —  pumps  and  pipes,  and  the 
leaded  boots,  and  the  huge  snouted  helmets  shining  in 
rows  along  the  wall, — ten  complete  outfits. 

**The  whole  eastern  half  of  my  lagoon  is  shallow, 
you  must  understand,"  said  Attwater;  **so  we  were 
able  to  get  in  the  dress  to  great  advantage.  It  paid  be- 
yond belief,  and  was  a  queer  sight  when  they  were  at 
it;  and  these  marine  monsters"  —  tapping  the  nearest 
of  the  helmets  —  **kept  appearing  and  reappearing  in 
the  midst  of  the  lagoon.  Fond  of  parables  ?  "  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"Oh,  yes!  "  said  Herrick. 

"Well,  I  saw  these  machines  come  up  dripping  and 
go  down  again,  and  come  up  dripping  and  go  down 
again,  and  all  the  while  the  fellow  inside  as  dry  as 
toast,"  said  Attwater;  "and  1  thought  we  all  wanted  a 
dress  to  go  down  into  the  world  in,  and  come  up 
scathless.  What  do  you  think  the  name  was  ? "  he 
inquired. 

"Self-conceit,"  said  Herrick. 
33^ 


BETTER  ACQUAINTANCE 

"Ah,  but  I  mean  seriously,"  said  Attwater. 

**Call  it  self-respect,  then,"  corrected  Herrick,  with 
a  laugh. 

*  *  And  why  not  grace  ?  Why  not  God's  grace.  Hay  ?  " 
asked  Attwater.  *'Why  not  the  grace  of  your  Maker 
and  Redeemer,  he  who  died  for  you,  he  who  upholds 
you,  he  whom  you  daily  crucify  afresh  ?  There  is  noth- 
ing here"  —  striking  on  his  bosom —  "nothing  there" 

—  smiting  the  wall  —  ''  and  nothing  there  "  —  stamping 

—  "nothing  but  God's  grace!  We  walk  upon,  we 
breathe  it;  we  live  and  die  by  it;  it  makes  the  nails 
and  axles  of  the  universe ;  and  a  puppy  in  pyjamas  pre- 
fers self-conceit!"  The  huge  dark  man  stood  over 
against  Herrick  by  the  line  of  divers'  helmets,  and 
seemed  to  swell  and  glow ;  and  the  next  moment  the 
life  had  gone  from  him.  "  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he; 
**  I  see  you  don't  believe  in  God." 

"Not  in  your  sense,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Herrick. 

"  I  never  argue  with  young  atheists  or  habitual  drunk- 
ards," said  Attwater,  flippantly.  "Let  us  go  across 
the  island  to  the  outer  beach." 

It  was  but  a  little  way,  the  greatest  width  of  that 
island  scarce  exceeding  a  furlong,  and  they  walked 
gently.  Herrick  was  like  one  in  a  dream.  He  had 
come  there  with  a  mind  divided, — come  prepared  to 
study  that  ambiguous  and  sneering  mask,  drag  out  the 
essential  man  from  underneath,  and  act  accordingly; 
decision  being  till  then  postponed.  Iron  cruelty,  an 
iron  insensibility  to  the  suffering  of  others,  the  uncom- 
promising pursuit  of  his  own  interests,  cold  culture, 
manners  without  humanity, —  these  he  had  looked  for, 
these  he  still  thought  he  saw.     But  to  find  the  whole 

333 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

machine  thus  glow  with  the  reverberation  of  religious 
zeal,  surprised  him  beyond  words;  and  he  laboured  in 
vain,  as  he  walked,  to  piece  together  into  any  kind  of 
whole  his  odds  and  ends  of  knowledge;  to  adjust  again, 
into  any  kind  of  focus  with  itself,  his  picture  of  the  man 
beside  him. 

*'What  brought  you  here  to  the  South  Seas?"  he 
asked  presently. 

"Many  things,"  said  Attwater.  '*  Youth,  curiosity, 
romance,  the  love  of  the  sea,  and  (it  will  surprise  you 
to  hear)  an  interest  in  missions.  That  has  a  good  deal 
declined,  which  will  surprise  you  less.  They  go  the 
wrong  way  to  work;  they  are  too  parsonish,  too  much 
of  the  old  wife,  and  even  the  old  apple- wife.  Clothes, 
clothes,  are  their  idea;  but  clothes  are  not  Christianity, 
any  more  than  they  are  the  sun  in  heaven,  or  could  take 
the  place  of  it!  They  think  a  parsonage  with  roses, 
and  church  bells,  and  nice  old  women  bobbing  in  the 
lanes,  are  part  and  parcel  of  religion.  But  religion  is  a 
savage  thing,  like  the  universe  it  illuminates;  savage, 
cold,  and  bare,  but  infinitely  strong." 

''And  you  found  this  island  by  an  accident?"  said 
Herrick. 

''As  you  did,"  said  Attwater.  "And  since  then  I 
have  had  a  business  and  a  colony  and  a  mission  of  my 
own.  I  was  a  man  of  the  world  before  I  was  a  Chris- 
tian ;  I'm  a  man  of  the  world  still,  and  I  made  my  mis- 
sion pay.  No  good  ever  came  of  coddling.  A  man 
has  to  stand  up  in  God's  sight  and  work  up  to  his  weight 
avoirdupois;  then  I'll  talk  to  him,  but  not  before.  I 
gave  these  beggars  what  they  wanted, — a  judge  in 
Israel,  the  bearer  of  the  sword  and  scourge.     I  was 

334 


BETTER  ACQUAINTANCE 

making  a  new  people  here,  and  behold!  the  angel  of  the 
Lord  smote  them,  and  they  were  not! " 

With  the  very  uttering  of  the  words,  which  were  ac- 
companied by  a  gesture,  they  came  forth  out  of  the 
porch  of  the  palm  wood  by  the  margin  of  the  sea,  and 
full  in  front  of  the  sun,  which  was  near  setting.  Be- 
fore them  the  surf  broke  slowly.  All  around,  with  an 
air  of  imperfect  wooden  things  inspired  with  wicked 
activity,  the  land-crabs  trundled  and  scuttled  into  holes. 
On  the  right,  whither  Attwater  pointed  and  abruptly 
turned,  was  the  cemetery  of  the  island,  a  field  of  broken 
stones  from  the  bigness  of  a  child's  hand  to  that  of  his 
head,  diversified  by  many  mounds  of  the  same  mate- 
rial, and  walled  by  a  rude  rectangular  enclosure  of  the 
same.  Nothing  grew  there  but  a  shrub  or  two  with 
some  white  flowers ;  nothing  but  the  number  of  the 
mounds,  and  their  disquieting  shape,  indicated  the  pres- 
ence of  the  dead. 

**  *The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  lie!'"  quoted 
Attwater,  as  he  entered  by  the  open  gateway  into  that 
unhomely  close.  ''  Coral  to  coral,  pebbles  to  pebbles,'* 
he  said;  "this  has  been  the  main  scene  of  my  activity 
in  the  South  Pacific.  Some  were  good,  and  some  bad, 
and  the  majority  (of  course  and  always)  null.  Here 
was  a  fellow,  now,  that  used  to  frisk  like  a  dog ;  if  you 
had  called  him,  he  came  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow;  if 
you  had  not,  and  he  came  unbidden,  you  should  have 
seen  the  deprecating  eye  and  the  little  intricate  dancing 
step.  Well,  his  trouble  is  over  now;  he  has  lain  down 
with  kings  and  councillors;  the  rest  of  his  acts,  are 
they  not  written  in  the  Book  of  the  Chronicles  ?  That 
fellow  was  from  Penrhyn;  like  all  the  Penrhyn  islanders 

335 


THE   EBB   TIDE 

he  was  ill  to  manage;  heady,  jealous,  violent, —  the 
man  with  the  nose !  He  lies  here  quiet  enough.  And  so 
they  all  lie.    *And  darkness  was  the  burier  of  the  dead. ' " 

He  stood,  in  the  strong  glow  of  the  sunset,  with 
bowed  head;  his  voice  sounded  now  sweet  and  nov/ 
bitter,  with  the  varying  sense. 

''You  loved  these  people?"  cried  Herrick,  strangely 
touched. 

"I?"  said  Attwater.  "Dear,  no!  Don't  think  me 
a  philanthropist.  I  dislike  men,  and  I  hate  women.  If 
I  like  the  islands  at  all,  it  is  because  you  see  them  here 
plucked  of  their  lendings,  their  dead  birds  and  cocked 
hats,  their  petticoats  and  coloured  hose.  Here  was  one 
I  liked,  though,"  and  he  set  his  foot  upon  a  mound. 
"He  was  a  fine,  savage  fellow;  he  had  a  dark  soul. 
Yes,  I  liked  this  one.  I  am  fanciful,"  he  added,  looking 
hard  at  Herrick,  "and  I  take  fads.     I  like  you." 

Herrick  turned  swiftly,  and  looked  far  away  to  where 
the  clouds  were  beginning  to  troop  together  and  amass 
themselves  round  the  obsequies  of  day.  "No  one  can 
like  me,"  he  said. 

"You  are  wrong  there,"  said  the  other,  "as  a  man 
usually  is  about  himself.  You  are  attractive,  very  at- 
tractive." 

"It  is  not  me,"  said  Herrick;  "no  one  can  like  me. 
If  you  knew  how  I  despised  myself — and  why  I "  His 
voice  rang  out  in  the  quiet  graveyard. 

"I  knew  that  you  despised  yourself,"  said  Attwater. 
"  I  saw  the  blood  come  into  your  face  to-day  when  you 
remembered  Oxford.  And  I  could  have  blushed  for 
you  myself,  to  see  a  man,  a  gentleman,  with  those  two 
vulgar  wolves." 

226 


BETTER  ACQUAINTANCE 

Herrick  faced  him  with  a  thrill.  "  Wolves  ?"  he  re- 
peated. 

*'I  said  wolves,  and  vulgar  wolves,"  said  Attwater. 
**Do  you  know  that  to-day,  when  I  came  on  board,  I 
trembled  ?  " 

*' You  concealed  it  well,"  stammered  Herrick. 

*'A  habit  of  mine,"  said  Attwater.  "But  I  was 
afraid,  for  all  that.  I  was  afraid  of  the  two  wolves." 
He  raised  his  hand  slowly.  "And  now,  Hay,  you 
poor,  lost  puppy,  what  do  you  do  with  the  two 
wolves  ?  " 

"What  do  I  do  ?  I  don't  do  anything,"  said  Herrick. 
"  There  is  nothing  wrong;  all  is  above  board;  Captain 
Brown  is  a  good  soul;  he  is  a  —  he  is — "  The  phan- 
tom voice  of  Davis  called  in  his  ear,  "There's  going  to 
be  a  funeral;  "  and  the  sweat  burst  forth  and  streamed 
on  his  brow.  "He  is  a  family  man,"  he  resumed 
again,  swallowing;  "he  has  children  at  home, —  and  a 
wife." 

"  And  a  very  nice  man  ?"  said  Attwater.  "And  so 
is  Mr.  Whish,  no  doubt  ?  " 

"  I  won't  go  so  far  as  that,"  said  Herrick.  "  I  do  not 
like  Huish.     And  yet  —  he  has  his  merits,  too." 

"And,  in  short,  take  them  for  all  in  all,  as  good  a 
ship's  company  as  one  would  ask  ?  "  said  Attwater. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Herrick,  "quite." 

"So,  then,  we  approach  the  other  point,  of  why  you 
despise  yourself?  "  said  Attwater. 

"Do  we  not  all  despise  ourselves?"  cried  Herrick. 
"Do  not  you?" 

"  Oh,  I  say  I  do.  But  do  I  ?  "  said  Attwater.  "  One 
thing  I  know,  at  least;  I  never  gave  a  cry  like  yours. 

337 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

Hay,  it  came  from  a  bad  conscience!  Ah,  man,  that 
poor  diving-dress  of  self-conceit  is  sadly  tattered!  To- 
day, if  ye  will  hear  my  voice.  To-day,  now,  while 
the  sun  sets,  and  here  in  this  burying-place  of  brown 
innocents,  fall  on  your  knees  and  cast  your  sins  and 
sorrows  on  the  Redeemer.     Hay " 

'*Not  Hay!"  interrupted  the  other,  strangling. 
** Don't  call  me  that!  I  mean —  For  God's  sake,  can't 
you  see  I'm  on  the  rack  ?  " 

''I  see  it;  I  know  it;  I  put  and  keep  you  there;  my 
fingers  are  on  the  screws,"  said  Attwater.  *' Please 
God,  I  will  bring  a  penitent  this  night  before  His  throne. 
Come,  come  to  the  mercy  seat !  He  waits  to  be  gracious, 
man, —  waits  to  be  gracious!  '* 

He  spread  out  his  arms  like  a  crucifix;  his  face  shone 
with  the  brightness  of  a  seraph's;  in  his  voice,  as  it 
rose  to  the  last  word,  the  tears  seemed  ready. 

Herrick  made  a  vigorous  call  upon  himself.  ''Att- 
water," he  said,  "you  push  me  beyond  bearing.  What 
am  I  to  do  ?  I  do  not  believe.  It  is  living  truth  to 
you ;  to  me,  upon  my  conscience,  only  folk-lore.  I  do 
not  believe  there  is  any  form  of  words  under  heaven  by 
which  I  can  lift  the  burthen  from  my  shoulders.  I  must 
stagger  on  to  the  end  with  the  pack  of  my  responsi- 
bility ;  I  cannot  shift  it.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  not, 
if  I  thought  I  could  ?  I  cannot — cannot — cannot — and 
let  that  suffice!" 

The  rapture  was  all  gone  from  Attwater's  counte- 
nance; the  dark  apostle  had  disappeared,  and  in  his 
place  there  stood  an  easy,  sneering  gentleman,  who 
took  off  his  hat  and  bowed.  It  was  pertly  done,  and 
the  blood  burned  in  Herrick's  face. 

338 


BETTER  ACQUAINTANCE 

**What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  he  cried. 

"Well,  shall  we  go  back  to  the  house?"  said  Att- 
water.     "  Our  guests  will  soon  be  due." 

Herrick  stood  his  ground  a  moment,  with  clenched 
fists  and  teeth ;  and  as  he  so  stood,  the  fact  of  his  errand 
there  slowly  swung  clear  in  front  of  him,  like  the  moon 
out  of  clouds.  He  had  come  to  lure  that  man  on  board ; 
he  was  failing,  even  if  it  could  be  said  that  he  had  tried ; 
he  was  sure  to  fail  now,  and  knew  it,  and  knew  it  was 
better  so.  .  And  what  was  to  be  next  ? 

With  a  groan  he  turned  to  follow  his  host,  who  was 
standing  with  a  polite  smile,  and  instantly,  and  some- 
what obsequiously,  led  the  way  into  the  now  darkened 
colonnade  of  palms.  There  they  went  in  silence;  the 
earth  gave  up  richly  of  her  perfume,  the  air  tasted  warm 
and  aromatic  in  the  nostrils,  and,  from  a  great  way 
forward  in  the  wood,  the  brightness  of  lights  and  fire 
marked  out  the  house  of  Attwater. 

Herrick  meanwhile  revolved  and  resisted  an  immense 
temptation,  to  go  up,  to  touch  him  on  the  arm,  and 
breathe  a  word  in  his  ear:  "  Beware,  they  are  going  to 
murder  you. "  There  would  be  one  life  saved ;  but  what 
of  the  two  others  ?  The  three  lives  went  up  and  down 
before  him  like  buckets  in  a  well,  or  like  the  scales  of 
balances.  It  had  come  to  a  choice,  and  one  that  must 
be  speedy.  For  certain  invaluable  minutes  the  wheels 
of  life  ran  before  him,  and  he  could  still  divert  them 
with  a  touch  to  the  one  side  or  the  other;  still  choose 
who  was  to  live  and  who  was  to  die.  He  considered 
the  men.  Attwater  intrigued,  puzzled,  dazzled,  en- 
chanted, and  revolted  him.  Alive,  he  seemed  but  a 
doubtful  good;  and  the  thought  of  him  lying  dead  was 

339 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

SO  unwelcome  that  it  pursued  him,  like  a  vision,  with 
every  circumstance  of  colour  and  sound.  Incessantly 
he  had  before  him  the  image  of  that  great  mass  of  man, 
stricken  down,  in  varying  attitudes  and  with  varying 
wounds, — fallen  prone,  fallen  supine,  fallen  on  his  side, 
or  clinging  to  a  doorpost,  with  the  changing  face  and 
the  relaxing  fingers  of  the  death  agony.  He  heard  the 
click  of  the  trigger,  the  thud  of  the  ball,  the  cry  of  the 
victim ;  he  saw  the  blood  flow.  And  this  building-up 
of  circumstance  was  like  a  consecration  of  the  man,  till 
he  seemed  to  walk  in  sacrificial  fillets.  Next  he  con- 
sidered Davis,  with  his  thick-fingered,  coarse-grained, 
oat-bread  commonness  of  nature;  his  indomitable  valour 
and  mirth  in  the  old  days  of  their  starvation ;  the  en- 
dearing blend  of  his  faults  and  virtues ;  the  sudden  shin- 
ing forth  of  a  tenderness  that  lay  too  deep  for  tears ;  his 
children, — Ada  and  her  bowel  complaint,  and  Ada's 
doll.  No,  death  could  not  be  suffered  to  approach  that 
head,  even  in  fancy.  With  a  general  heat  and  a  brac- 
ing of  his  muscles,  it  was  borne  in  on  Herrick  that  Ada's 
father  would  find  in  him  a  son  to  the  death.  And  even 
Huish  shared  a  little  in  that  sacredness;  by  the  tacit 
adoption  of  daily  life  they  were  become  brothers ;  there 
was  an  implied  bond  of  loyalty  in  their  cohabitation  of 
the  ship  and  of  their  past  miseries,  to  which  Herrick 
must  be  a  little  true  or  wholly  dishonoured.  Horror  of 
sudden  death  for  horror  of  sudden  death,  there  was 
here  no  hesitation  possible ;  it  must  be  Attwater.  And 
no  sooner  was  the  thought  formed  (which  was  a  sen- 
tence) than  the  whole  mind  of  the  man  ran  in  a  panic  to 
the  other  side;  and  when  he  looked  within  himself,  he 
was  aware  only  of  turbulence  and  inarticulate  outcry. 

340 


BETTER  ACQUAINTANCE 

In  all  this  there  was  no  thought  of  Robert  Herrick. 
He  had  complied  with  the  ebb-tide  in  man's  affairs,  and 
the  tide  had  carried  him  away;  he  heard  already  the 
roaring  of  the  maelstrom  that  must  hurry  him  under. 
And  in  his  bedevilled  and  dishonoured  soul  there  was 
no  thought  of  self 

For  how  long  he  walked  silent  by  his  companion, 
Herrick  had  no  guess.  The  clouds  rolled  suddenly 
away;  the  orgasm  was  over;  he  found  himself  placid 
with  the  placidity  of  despair;  there  returned  to  him  the 
power  of  commonplace  speech:  and  he  heard  with  sur- 
prise his  own  voice  say:  "  What  a  lovely  evening!  " 

*'Is  it  not?"  said  Attwater.  "Yes,  the  evenings 
here  would  be  very  pleasant  if  one  had  anything  to  do. 
By  day,  of  course,  one  can  shoot." 

"You  shoot?"  asked  Herrick. 

"Yes,  I  am  what  you  would  call  a  fine  shot,"  said 
Attwater.  "It  is  faith;  I  believe  my  balls  will  go  true; 
if  I  were  to  miss  once,  it  would  spoil  me  for  nine 
months." 

"You  never  miss,  then  ?"  said  Herrick. 

"Not  unless  I  mean  to,"  said  Attwater.  "But  to 
miss  nicely  is  the  art.  There  was  an  old  king  one  knew 
in  the  Western  Islands,  who  used  to  empty  a  Win- 
chester all  round  a  man,  and  stir  his  hair  or  nick  a  rag 
out  of  his  clothes  with  every  ball  except  the  last ;  and 
that  went  plump  between  the  eyes.  It  was  pretty 
practice." 

"  You  could  do  that  ?  "  asked  Herrick,  with  a  sudden 
chill. 

" Oh,  I  can  do  anything,"  returned  the  other.  "  You 
do  not  understand;  what  must  be,  must." 

341 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

They  were  now  come  near  to  the  back  part  of  the 
house.  One  of  the  men  was  engaged  about  the  cook- 
ing-fire, which  burned  with  the  clear,  fierce,  essential 
radiance  of  cocoanut  shells.  A  fragrance  of  strange 
meats  was  in  the  air.  All  round  in  the  verandahs  lamps 
were  lighted,  so  that  the  place  shone  abroad  in  the  dusk 
of  the  trees  with  many  complicated  patterns  of  shadow. 

''Come  and  wash  your  hands,"  said  Attwater,  and 
led  the  way  into  a  clean,  matted  room  with  a  cot-bed, 
a  safe,  a  shelf  or  two  of  books  in  a  glazed  case,  and  an 
iron  washing-stand.  Presently  he  cried  in  the  native 
tongue,  and  there  appeared  for  a  moment  in  the  door- 
way a  plump  and  pretty  young  woman  with  a  clean 
towel. 

*'  Hullo ! "  cried  Herrick,  who  now  saw  for  the  first  time 
the  fourth  survivor  of  the  pestilence,  and  was  startled 
by  the  recollection  of  the  captain's  orders. 

''Yes,"  said  Attwater,  "the  whole  colony  lives 
about  the  house, —  what's  left  of  it.  We  are  all  afraid 
of  devils,  if  you  please,  and  Taniera  and  she  sleep  in  the 
front  parlour,  and  the  other  boy  on  the  verandah." 

"She  is  pretty,"  said  Herrick. 

"Too  pretty,"  said  Attwater.  "That  was  why  I 
had  her  married.  A  man  never  knows  when  he  may 
be  inclined  to  be  a  fool  about  women:  so  when  we 
were  left  alone,  I  had  the  pair  of  them  to  the  chapel  and 
performed  the  ceremony.  She  made  a  lot  of  fuss.  I 
do  not  take  at  all  the  romantic  views  of  marriage,"  he 
explained. 

"And  that  strikes  you  as  a  safeguard?"  asked  Her- 
rick, with  amazement. 

"Certainly.  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  very  literal. 
342 


BETTER  ACQUAINTANCE 

IVhom  God  hath  joined  together,  are  the  words,  I  fancy. 
So  one  married  them,  and  respects  the  marriage,"  said 
Attwater. 

''Ahl"  said  Herrick. 

*' You  see,  I  may  look  to  make  an  excellent  marriage 
when  I  go  home,"  began  Attwater,  confidentially.  **  I 
am  rich.  This  safe  alone  " — laying  his  hand  upon  it  — 
*' will  be  a  moderate  fortune  when  I  have  the  time  to 
place  the  pearls  upon  the  market.  Here  are  ten  years' 
accumulation  from  a  lagoon  where  I  have  had  as  many 
as  ten  divers  going  all  day  long;  and  I  went  farther 
than  people  usually  do  in  these  waters,  for  I  rotted  a 
lot  of  shell,  and  did  splendidly.  Would  you  like  to 
see  them?" 

This  confirmation  of  the  captain's  guess  hit  Herrick 
hard,  and  he  contained  himself  with  difficulty.  *'No, 
thank  you,  I  think  not,"  said  he.  *'  I  do  not  care  for 
pearls.  I  am  very  indifferent  to  all  these " 

"Gewgaws?"  suggested  Attwater.  **And  yet  I 
believe  you  ought  to  cast  an  eye  on  my  collection, 
which  is  really  unique,  and  which  —  Oh  !  it  is  the  case 
with  all  of  us  and  everything  about  us  !  —  hangs  by  a 
hair.  To-day  it  groweth  up  and  flourisheth ;  to-mor- 
row it  is  cut  down  and  cast  into  the  oven.  To-day  it 
is  here  and  together  in  this  safe ;  to-morrow,  to-night, 
it  may  be  scattered.  Thou  fool!  this  night  thy  soul 
shall  be  required  of  thee." 

"I  do  not  understand  you,"  said  Herrick. 

''Not?"  said  Attwater. 

'*You  seem  to  speak  in  riddles,"  said  Herrick,  un- 
steadily. ''I  do  not  understand  what  manner  of  man 
you  are,  nor  what  you  are  driving  at." 

343 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

Attwater  stood  with  his  hands  upon  his  hips,  and  his 
head  bent  forward.  "  I  am  a  fatalist,"  he  replied,  "  and 
just  now  (if  you  insist  on  it)  an  experimentalist.  Talk- 
ing of  which,  by  the  by,  who  painted  out  the  schooner's 
name.?"  he  said,  with  mocking  softness.  "Because, 
do  you  know  ?  one  thinks  it  should  be  done  again.  It 
can  still  be  partly  read ;  and  whatever  is  worth  doing, 
is  surely  worth  doing  well.  You  think  with  me? 
That  is  so  nice.  Well,  shall  we  step  on  the  verandah  ? 
I  have  a  dry  sherry  that  I  would  like  your  opinion  of" 

Herrick  followed  him  forth  to  where,  under  the  light 
of  the  hanging  lamps,  the  table  shone  with  napery  and 
crystal;  followed  him  as  the  criminal  goes  with  the 
hangman,  or  the  sheep  with  the  butcher ;  took  the  sherry 
mechanically,  drank  it,  and  spoke  mechanical  words  of 
praise.  The  object  of  his  terror  had  become  suddenly 
inverted;  till  then  he  had  seen  Attwater  trussed  and 
gagged,  a  helpless  victim,  and  had  longed  to  run  in 
and  save  him ;  he  saw  him  now  tower  up  mysterious 
and  menacing,  the  angel  of  the  Lord's  wrath,  armed 
with  knowledge,  and  threatening  judgment.  He  set 
down  his  glass  again,  and  was  surprised  to  see  it 
empty. 

**  You  go  always  armed  ?"  he  said,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment could  have  plucked  his  tongue  out. 

**  Always,"  said  Attwater.  "I  have  been  through  a 
mutiny  here;  that  was  one  of  my  incidents  of  mission- 
ary life." 

And  just  then  the  sound  of  voices  reached  them,  and 
looking  forth  from  the  verandah,  they  saw  Huish  and  the 
captain  drawing  near. 


344 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   DINNER-PARTY 

They  sat  down  to  an  island  dinner  remarkable  for  its 
variety  and  excellence ;  turtle  soup  and  steak,  fish,  fowls, 
a  sucking-pig,  a  cocoanut  salad,  and  sprouting  cocoa- 
nut  roasted  for  dessert.  Not  a  tin  had  been  opened ; 
and  save  for  the  oil  and  vinegar  in  the  salad,  and  some 
green  spears  of  onion  which  Attwater  cultivated  and 
plucked  with  his  own  hand,  not  even  the  condiments 
were  European.  Sherry,  hock,  and  claret  succeeded 
each  other,  and  the  FaraUone  champagne  brought  up 
the  rear  with  the  dessert. 

It  was  plain  that,  like  so  many  of  the  extremely  re- 
ligious in  the  days  before  teetotalism,  Attwater  had  a 
dash  of  the  epicure.  For  such  characters  it  is  softening 
to  eat  well;  doubly  so  to  have  designed  and  had  pre- 
pared an  excellent  meal  for  others ;  and  the  manners  of 
their  host  were  agreeably  mollified  in  consequence.  A 
cat  of  huge  growth  sat  on  his  shoulder  purring,  and  oc- 
casionally, with  a  deft  paw,  captured  a  morsel  in  the 
air.  To  a  cat  he  might  be  likened  himself,  as  he  lolled 
at  the  head  of  his  table,  dealing  out  attentions  and  in- 
nuendoes, and  using  the  velvet  and  the  claw  indiffer- 
ently. And  both  Huish  and  the  captain  fell  progressively 
under  the  charm  of  his  hospitable  freedom. 

345 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

Over  the  third  guest,  the  incidents  of  the  dinner  may 
be  said  to  have  passed  for  long  unheeded.  Herrick  ac- 
cepted all  that  was  offered  him,  ate  and  drank  without 
tasting,  and  heard  without  comprehension.  His  mind 
was  singly  occupied  in  contemplating  the  horror  of  the 
circumstance  in  which  he  sat.  What  Attwater  knew, 
what  the  captain  designed,  from  which  side  treachery 
was  to  be  first  expected,  these  were  the  ground  of  his 
thoughts.  There  were  times  when  he  longed  to  throw 
down  the  table  and  flee  into  the  night.  And  even  that 
was  debarred  him.  To  do  anything,  to  say  anything, 
to  move  at  all,  were  only  to  precipitate  the  barbarous 
tragedy ;  and  he  sat  spellbound,  eating  with  white  lips. 
Two  of  his  companions  observed  him  narrowly;  Att- 
water with  raking,  side-long  glances  that  did  not  inter- 
rupt his  talk,  the  captain  with  a  heavy  and  anxious 
consideration. 

''Well,  I  must  say  this  sherry  is  a  really  prime  article," 
said  Huish.  "  'Ow  much  does  it  stand  you  in,  if  it's  a 
fair  question  ?" 

"A  hundred  and  twelve  shillings  in  London,  and  the 
freight  to  Valparaiso  and  on  again,"  said  Attwater.  "It 
strikes  one  as  really  not  a  bad  fluid." 

"  A  'undred  and  twelve!  "  murmured  the  clerk,  relish- 
ing the  wine  and  the  figures  in  a  common  ecstasy.  * '  Oh 
my!" 

''So  glad  you  like  it,"  said  Attwater.  "Help  your- 
self, Mr.  Whish,  and  keep  the  bottle  by  you." 

"My  friend's  name  is  Huish  and  not  Whish,  sir," 
said  the  captain,  with  a  flush. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  I  am  sure.  Huish  and  not  Whish 
—  certainly,"  said  Attwater.    "  I  was  about  to  say  that 

346 


THE  DINNER-PARTY 

I  have  still  eight  dozen,"  he  added,  fixing  the  captain 
with  his  eye. 

*' Eight  dozen  what  ?"  said  Davis. 

*'Sherry,"  was  the  reply.  ''Eight  dozen  excellent 
sherry.  Why,  it  seems  almost  worth  it  in  itself,  to  a 
man  fond  of  wine." 

The  ambiguous  words  struck  home  to  guilty  con- 
sciences, and  Huish  and  the  captain  sat  up  in  their 
places  and  regarded  him  with  a  scare. 

''Worth  what ? "  said  Davis. 

*' A  hundred  and  twelve  shillings,"  replied  Attwater. 

The  captain  breathed  hard  for  a  moment.  He  reached 
out  far  and  wide  to  find  any  coherency  in  these  remarks; 
then,  with  a  great  effort,  changed  the  subject. 

"I  allow  we  are  about  the  first  white  men  upon  this 
island,  sir,"  said  he. 

Attwater  followed  him  at  once,  and  with  entire  grav* 
ity,  to  the  new  ground.  "Myself  and  Dr.  Symonds  ex- 
cepted, I  should  say  the  only  ones,"  he  returned.  "  And 
yet  who  can  tell  ?  In  the  course  of  the  ages  some  one 
may  have  lived  here,  and  we  sometimes  think  that  some 
one  must.  The  cocoa  palms  grow  all  round  the  island, 
which  is  scarce  like  Nature's  planting.  We  found,  be- 
sides, when  we  landed,  an  unmistakable  cairn  upon  the 
beach ;  use  unknown,  but  probably  erected  in  the  hope 
of  gratifying  some  mumbo-jumbo  whose  very  name  is 
forgotten,  by  some  thick-witted  gentry  whose  very 
bones  are  lost.  Then  the  island  (witness  the  '  Direc- 
tory ')  has  been  twice  reported ;  and  since  my  tenancy 
we  have  had  two  wrecks,  both  derelict.  The  rest  is 
conjecture." 

"Dr.  Symonds  is  your  partner,  I  guess  ? "  said  Davis. 

347 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

*'  A  dear  fellow,  Symonds !  How  he  would  regret  it, 
if  he  knew  you  had  been  here,"  said  Attwater. 

**'E  's  on  the  Trinity  'All,  ain't  he?"  asked  Huish. 

**And  if  you  could  tell  me  where  the  Trinity  'All 
was,  you  would  confer  a  favour,  Mr.  Whish !  "  was  the 
reply. 

*'I  suppose  she  has  a  native  crew?"  said  Davis. 

**  Since  the  secret  has  been  kept  ten  years,  one  would 
suppose  she  had,"  replied  Attwater. 

*'Well,  now,  see  'ere!"  said  Huish.  "You  have 
everything  about  you  in  no  end  style,  and  no  mistake, 
but  I  tell  you  it  would  n't  do  for  me.  Too  much  of '  the 
old  rustic  bridge  by  the  mill; '  too  retired  by  'alf.  Give 
me  the  sound  of  Bow  Bells!  " 

"You  must  not  think  it  was  always  so,"  replied  Att- 
water. "This  was  once  a  busy  shore,  although  now, 
hark!  you  can  hear  the  solitude.  I  find  it  stimulating. 
And  talking  of  the  sound  of  bells,  kindly  follow  a  little 
experiment  of  mine  in  silence."  There  was  a  silver  bell 
at  his  right  hand  to  call  the  servants ;  he  made  them  a 
sign  to  stand  still,  struck  the  bell  with  force,  and  leaned 
eagerly  forward.  The  note  rose  clear  and  strong;  it 
rang  out  clear  and  far  into  the  night  and  over  the  de- 
serted island ;  it  died  into  the  distance  until  there  only 
lingered  in  the  porches  of  the  ear  a  vibration  that  was 
sound  no  longer.  "  Empty  houses,  empty  sea,  solitary 
beaches!"  said  Attwater.  "And  yet  God  hears  the 
bell !  And  yet  we  sit  in  this  verandah,  on  a  lighted  stage, 
with  all  heaven  for  spectators !  And  you  call  that  soli- 
tude?" 

There  followed  a  bar  of  silence,  during  which  the 
captain  sat  mesmerised. 

348 


THE  DINNER-PARTY 

Then  Attwater  laughed  softly.  *' These  are  the  di- 
versions of  a  lonely  man,"  he  resumed,  *'and  possibly 
not  in  good  taste.  One  tells  one's  self  these  little  fairy 
tales  for  company.  If  there  should  happen  to  be  any- 
thing in  folk-lore,  Mr.  Hay  ?  But  here  comes  the  claret. 
One  does  not  offer  you  Laffitte,  captain,  because  I  be- 
lieve it  is  all  sold  to  the  railroad  dining-cars  in  your  great 
country :  but  this  Brane-mouton  is  of  a  good  year,  and 
Mr.  Whish  will  give  me  news  of  it." 

''That's  a  queer  idea  of  yours!"  cried  the  captain, 
bursting  with  a  sigh  from  the  spell  that  had  bound  him. 
''So  you  mean  to  tell  me,  now,  that  you  sit  here  even- 
ings and  ring  up  G  —  well,  ring  on  the  angels  —  by 
yourself.?" 

"  As  a  matter  of  historic  fact,  and  since  you  put  it  di- 
rectly, one  does  not,"  said  Attwater.  "Why  ring  a 
bell,  when  there  flows  out  from  one's  self  and  every- 
thing about  one  a  far  more  momentous  silence  }  The 
least  beat  of  my  heart,  and  the  least  thought  in  my  mind, 
echoing  into  eternity  forever  and  forever  and  forever." 

"Oh,  look  'ere,"  said  Huish,  "turn  down  the  lights 
at  once,  and  the  Band  of  'Ope  will  oblige!  This  ain't  a 
spiritual  seance." 

"No  folk-lore  about  Mr.  Whish  —  I  beg  your  pardon, 
captain;  Huish,  not  Whish,  of  course,"  said  Attwater. 

As  the  boy  was  filling  Huish's  glass,  the  bottle  escaped 
from  his  hand  and  was  shattered,  and  the  wine  spilt  on 
the  verandah  floor.  Instant  grimness  as  of  death  ap- 
peared in  the  face  of  Attwater;  he  smote  the  bell  im- 
periously, and  the  two  brown  natives  fell  into  the  atti- 
tude of  attention,  and  stood  mute  and  trembling.  There 
was  a  moment  of  silence  and  hard  looks;  then  followed 

349 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

a  few  savage  words  in  the  native ;  and,  upon  a  gesture 
of  dismissal,  the  service  proceeded  as  before. 

None  of  the  party  had  as  yet  observed  upon  the  ex- 
cellent bearing  of  the  two  men.  They  were  dark,  un- 
dersized, and  well  set  up;  stepped  softly,  waited  deftly, 
brought  on  the  wines  and  dishes  at  a  look,  and  their 
eyes  attended  studiously  on  their  master. 

*' Where  do  you  get  your  labour  from,  anyway?" 
asked  Davis. 

''Ah,  where  not?"  answered  Attwater. 

'*  Not  much  of  a  soft  job,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  the  cap- 
tain. 

'*If  you  will  tell  me  where  getting  labour  is,"  said 
Attwater,  with  a  shrug.  "And,  of  course,  in  our  case, 
as  we  could  name  no  destination,  we  had  to  go  far  and 
wide,  and  do  the  best  we  could.  We  have  gone  as  far 
west  as  the  Kingsmills,  and  as  far  south  as  Rapa-iti. 
Pity  Symonds  isn't  here!  He  is  full  of  yarns.  That 
was  his  part,  to  collect  them.  Then  began  mine,  which 
was  the  educational." 

''You  mean  to  run  them  ?"  said  Davis. 

"Ay,  to  run  them,"  said  Attwater. 

"Wait  a  bit,"  said  Davis,  "I'm  out  of  my  depth. 
How  was  this  ?  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  did  it  single- 
handed?" 

"One  did  it  single-handed,"  said  Attwater,  "because 
there  was  nobody  to  help  one." 

"By  God,  but  you  must  be  a  holy  terror! "  cried  the 
captain,  in  a  glow  of  admiration. 

"One  does  one's  best,"  said  Attwater. 

"Well,  now!"  said  Davis,  "I  have  seen  a  lot  of 
driving  in  my  time,  and  been  counted  a  good  driver 

350 


THE   DINNER-PARTY 

myself;  I  fought  my  way,  third  mate,  round  the  Cape 
Horn  with  a  push  of  packet-rats  that  would  have  turned 
the  Devil  out  of  hell  and  shut  the  door  on  him ;  and,  I 
tell  you,  this  racket  of  Mr.  Attwater's  takes  the  cake. 
In  a  ship,  —  why  there  ain't  nothing  to  it!  You've  got 
the  law  with  you,  that's  what  does  it.  But  put  me 
down  on  this  blame'  beach,  alone,  with  nothing  but  a 
whip  and  a  mouthful  of  bad  words,  and  ask  me  to  —  no, 
sir!  it's  not  good  enough!  I  haven't  got  the  sand  for 
that!  "  cried  Davis.  ''It's  the  law  behind,"  he  added; 
**  it's  the  law  does  it,  every  time!  " 

*'The  beak  ain't  as  black  as  he's  sometimes  pynted," 
observed  Huish,  humorously. 

"Well,  one  got  the  law  after  a  fashion,"  said  Att- 
water.  "One  had  to  be  a  number  of  things.  It  was 
sometimes  rather  a  bore." 

"  I  should  smile!"  said  Davis.  "  Rather  lively,  I 
should  think." 

"I  dare  say  we  mean  the  same  thing,"  said  Attwater. 
"However,  one  way  or  another,  one  got  it  knocked 
into  their  heads  that  they  mmt  work,  and  they  did — 
until  the  Lord  took  them." 

"'Ope  you  made  'em  jump,"  said  Huish. 

"When  it  was  necessary,  Mr.  Whish,  I  made  them 
jump,"  said  Attwater. 

"  You  bet  you  did!  "  cried  the  captain.  He  was  a 
good  deal  flushed,  but  not  so  much  with  wine  as  admi- 
ration ;  and  his  eyes  drank  in  the  huge  proportions  of 
the  other  with  delight.  "  You  bet  you  did,  and  you  bet 
that  I  can  see  you  doing  it.  By  God,  you're  a  man ;  and 
you  can  say  I  said  so!  " 

"Too  good  of  you,  I'm  sure,"  said  Attwater. 
351 


THE   EBB  TIDE 

**Did  you  —  did  you  ever  have  crime  here?"  asked 
Herrick,  breaking  his  silence  with  a  plangent  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  Attwater,  "we  did." 

"  And  how  did  you  handle  that,  sir  ?  "  cried  the  eager 
captain. 

"  Well,  you  see,  it  was  a  queer  case,"  replied  Attwater. 
"It  was  a  case  that  would  have  puzzled  Solomon. 
Shall!  tell  it  you .?    Yes?" 

The  captain  rapturously  accepted. 

"Well,"  drawled  Attwater,  "here  is  what  it  was.  I 
dare  say  you  know  two  types  of  natives,  which  may  be 
called  the  obsequious  and  the  sullen  ?  Well,  one  had 
them, — the  types  themselves, —  detected  in  the  fact; 
and  one  had  them  together.  Obsequiousness  ran  out 
of  the  first,  like  wine  out  of  a  bottle;  sullenness  con- 
gested in  the  second.  Obsequiousness  was  all  smiles; 
he  ran  to  catch  your  eye;  he  loved  to  gabble;  and  he 
had  about  a  dozen  words  of  beach  English,  and  an 
eighth  of  an  inch  veneer  of  Christianity.  Sullens  was 
industrious;  a  big,  down-looking  bee.  When  he  was 
spoken  to,  he  answered  with  a  black  look  and  a  shrug 
of  one  shoulder,  but  the  thing  would  be  done.  I  don't 
give  him  to  you  for  a  model  of  manners;  there  was 
nothing  showy  about  Sullens,  but  he  was  strong  and 
steady,  and  ungraciously  obedient.  Now,  Sullens  got 
into  trouble;  no  matter  how ;  the  regulations  of  the  place 
were  broken,  and  he  was  punished  accordingly  —  with- 
out effect.  So  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  and  the  day 
after,  till  1  began  to  be  weary  of  the  business,  and  Sul- 
lens (I  am  afraid)  particularly  so.  There  came  a  day 
when  he  was  in  fault  again,  for  perhaps  the  thirtieth 
time;  and  he  rolled  a  dull  eye  upon  me,  with  a  spark  in 

352 


THE  DINNER-PARTY 

it  and  appeared  to  be  about  to  speak.  Now,  the  regu- 
lations of  the  place  are  formal  upon  one  point:  we  allow 
no  explanations.  None  are  received,  none  allowed  to 
be  offered.  So  one  stopped  him  instantly,  but  made  a 
note  of  the  circumstance.  The  next  day  he  was  gone 
from  the  settlement.  There  could  be  nothing  more  an- 
noying; if  the  labour  took  to  running  away,  the  fishery 
was  wrecked.  There  are  sixty  miles  of  this  island,  you 
see,  all  in  length,  like  the  Queen's  Highway;  the  idea 
of  pursuit  in  such  a  place  was  a  piece  of  single-minded 
childishness,  which  one  did  not  entertain.  Two  days 
later  I  made  a  discovery.  It  came  in  upon  me  with  a 
flash  that  Sullens  had  been  unjustly  punished  from  be- 
ginning to  end,  and  the  real  culprit  throughout  had 
been  Obsequiousness.  The  native  who  talks,  like  the 
woman  who  hesitates,  is  lost.  You  set  him  talking 
and  lying,  and  he  talks  and  lies,  and  watches  your  face 
to  see  if  he  has  pleased  you,  till  at  last  out  comes  the 
truth!  It  came  out  of  Obsequiousness  in  the  regular 
course.  I  said  nothing  to  him ;  I  dismissed  him ;  and, 
late  as  it  was,  for  it  was  already  night,  set  off  to  look 
for  Sullens.  1  had  not  far  to  go;  about  two  hundred 
yards  up  the  island  the  moon  showed  him  to  me.  He 
was  hanging  in  a  cocoa  palm  —  I'm  not  botanist  enough 
to  tell  you  how — but  it's  the  way,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten,  these  natives  commit  suicide.  His  tongue  was  out, 
poor  devil,  and  the  birds  had  got  at  him.  I  spare  you 
details;  he  was  an  ugly  sight!  I  gave  the  business  six 
good  hours  of  thinking  in  this  verandah.  My  justice  had 
been  made  a  fool  of  I  don't  suppose  that  I  was  ever 
angrier.  Next  day  I  had  the  conch  sounded  and  all 
hands  out  before  sunrise.     One  took  one's  gun  and  led 

^53> 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

the  way  with  Obsequiousness.  He  was  very  talkative; 
the  beggar  supposed  that  all  was  right,  now  he  had 
confessed.  In  the  old  schoolboy  phrase,  he  was  plainly 
'  sucking  up  'to  me ;  full  of  protestations  of  good  will 
and  good  behaviour,  to  which  one  answered  one  really 
can't  remember  what.  Presently  the  tree  came  in  sight, 
and  the  hanged  man.  They  all  burst  out  lamenting  for 
their  comrade  in  the  island  way,  and  Obsequiousness 
was  the  loudest  of  the  mourners.  He  was  quite  genu- 
ine; a  noxious  creature,  without  any  consciousness  of 
guilt.  Well,  presently — to  make  a  long  story  short  — 
one  told  him  to  go  up  the  tree.  He  stared  a  bit,  looked 
at  one  with  a  trouble  in  his  eye,  and  had  rather  a  sickly 
smile,  but  went.  He  was  obedient  to  the  last;  he  had 
all  the  pretty  virtues,  but  the  truth  was  not  in  him.  So 
soon  as  he  was  up,  he  looked  down,  and  there  was  the 
rifle  covering  him;  and  at  that  he  gave  a  whimper 
like  a  dog.  You  could  hear  a  pin  drop;  no  more  keen- 
ing now.  There  they  all  crouched  upon  the  ground 
with  bulging  eyes;  there  was  he  in  the  tree-top,  the 
colour  of  lead ;  and  between  was  the  dead  man,  dancing 
a  bit  in  the  air.  He  was  obedient  to  the  last,  recited 
his  crime,  recommended  his  soul  to  God.  And 
then " 

Attwater  paused,  and  Herrick,  who  had  been  listening 
attentively,  made  a  convulsive  movement  which  upset 
his  glass. 

**  And  then  ?"  said  the  breathless  captain. 

**  Shot,"  said  Attwater.  '*  They  came  to  ground  to- 
gether." 

Herrick  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  shriek  and  an  in- 
sensate gesture. 

354 


THE  DINNER-PARTY 

'*  It  was  a  murder,"  he  screamed.  *'  A  cold-hearted, 
bloody-minded  murder!  You  monstrous  being!  Mur- 
derer and  hypocrite !  Murderer  and  hypocrite !  Mur- 
derer and  hypocrite!"  he  repeated,  and  his  tongue 
stumbled  among  the  words. 

The  captain  was  by  him  in  a  moment.  "Herrick! " 
he  cried,  "behave  yourself!  Here,  don't  be  a  blame' 
fool!" 

Herrick  struggled  in  his  embrace  like  a  frantic  child, 
and  suddenly  bowing  his  face  in  his  hands,  choked  into 
a  sob,  the  first  of  many,  which  now  convulsed  his  body 
silently,  and  now  jerked  from  him  indescribable  and 
meaningless  sounds. 

**Your  friend  appears  over-excited,"  remarked  Att- 
water,  sitting  unmoved,  but  all  alert,  at  table. 

*Mt  must  be  the  wine,"  replied  the  captain.  ''He 
ain't  no  drinking  man,  you  see.  I — I  think  I'll  take 
him  away.     A  walk'll  sober  him  up,  I  guess." 

He.led  him  without  resistance  out  of  the  verandah  and 
into  the  night,  in  which  they  soon  melted ;  but  still  for 
some  time,  as  they  drew  away,  his  comfortable  voice 
was  to  be  heard  soothing  and  remonstrating,  and  Her- 
rick answering,  at  intervals,  with  the  mechanical  noises 
of  hysteria. 

'"E's  like  a  bloomin'  poultry  yard,"  observed  Huish, 
helping  himself  to  wine  (of  which  he  spilled  a  good 
deal)  with  gentlemanly  ease.  '*  A  man  should  learn  to 
beyave  at  table,"  he  added. 

'*  Rather  bad  form,  is  it  not  ?  "  said  Attwater.  ''Well, 
well,  we  are  left  Ute-d-tete.  A  glass  of  wine  with  you, 
Mr.  Whish!" 


355 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   OPEN   DOOR 

The  captain  and  Herrick  meanwhile  turned  their  backs 
upon  the  lights  in  Attwater's  veranda,  and  took  a  direc- 
tion towards  the  pier  and  the  beach  of  the  lagoon. 

The  isle,  at  this  hour,  with  its  smooth  floor  of  sand, 
the  pillared  roof  overhead,  and  the  prevalent  illumina- 
tion of  the  lamps,  wore  an  air  of  unreality,  like  a  de- 
serted theatre  or  a  public  garden  at  midnight.  A  man 
looked  about  him  for  the  statues  and  tables.  Not  the 
least  air  of  wind  was  stirring  among  the  palms,  and  the 
silence  was  emphasised  by  the  continuous  clamour  of 
the  surf  from  the  sea-shore,  as  it  might  be  of  traffic  in 
the  next  street. 

Still  talking,  still  soothing  him,  the  captain  hurried 
his  patient  on,  brought  him,  at  last  to  the  lagoon  side, 
and,  leading  him  down  the  beach,  laved  his  head  and 
face  with  the  tepid  water.  The  paroxysm  gradually 
subsided,  the  sobs  became  less  convulsive,  and  then 
ceased.  By  an  odd  but  not  quite  unnatural  conjunc- 
tion, the  captain's  soothing  current  of  talk  died  away  at 
the  same  time,  and  by  proportional  steps,  and  the  pair 
remained  sunk  in  silence.  The  lagoon  broke  at  their 
feet  in  petty  wavelets,  and  with  a  sound  as  delicate  as 
a  whisper;  stars  of  all  degrees  looked  down  on  their 

356 


THE  OPEN   DOOR 

own  images  in  the  vast  mirror;  and  the  more  angry 
colour  of  the  Farallone's  riding-lamp  burned  in  the  mid- 
dle distance.  For  long  they  continued  to  gaze  on  the 
scene  before  them,  and  hearken  anxiously  to  the  rustle 
and  tinkle  of  that  miniature  surf,  or  the  more  distant 
and  loud  reverberations  from  the  outer  coast.  For  long, 
speech  was  denied  them ;  and  when  the  words  came  at 
last,  they  came  to  both  simultaneously. 

*'Say,  Herrick "  the  captain  was  beginning. 

But  Herrick,  turning  swiftly  towards  his  companion, 
beat  him  down  with  the  eager  cry:  *' Let's  up  anchor, 
captain,  and  to  sea!" 

** Where  to,  my  son?"  said  the  captain.  ''Up  an- 
chor's easy  saying.     But  where  to  ?  " 

"To  sea,"  responded  Herrick.  **The  sea's  big 
enough!  To  sea,  away  from  this  dreadful  island  and 
that  —  oh — that  sinister  man!  " 

*  *  Oh,  we'll  see  about  that !  "  said  Davis.  *  *  You  brace 
up,  and  we'll  see  about  that.  You're  all  run  down, 
that's  what's  wrong  with  you.  You're  all  nerves  like 
Jemimar.  You've  got  to  brace  up  good,  and  be  your- 
self again,  and  then  we'll  talk." 

*'To  sea,"  reiterated  Herrick;  **to  sea  to-night  — 
now  —  this  moment!" 

*'It  can't  be,  my  son,"  replied  the  captain  firmly. 
'*No  ship  of  mine  puts  to  sea  without  provisions;  you 
can  take  that  for  settled." 

**You  don't  seem  to  understand,"  said  Herrick. 
**The  whole  thing  is  over,  I  tell  you.  There  is  noth- 
ing to  do  here,  when  he  knows  all.  That  man  there 
with  the  cat  knows  all.     Can't  you  take  it  in  ?  " 

**  All  what  ?  "  asked  the  captain,  visibly  discomposed. 
357 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

**Why,  he  received  us  like  a  perfect  gentleman,  and 
treated  us  real  handsome  until  you  began  with  your 
foolery ;  and  I  must  say  I've  seen  men  shot  for  less,  and 
nobody  sorry !    What  more  do  you  expect,  anyway  ?  " 

Herrick  rocked  to  and  fro  upon  the  sand,  shaking  his 
head. 

**  Guying  us,"  he  said.  **  He  was  guying  us  —  only 
guying  us;  it's  all  we're  good  for." 

'* There  was  one  queer  thing,  to  be  sure,"  admitted 
the  captain,  with  a  misgiving  of  the  voice;  *'  that  about 
the  sherry.  D — d  if  i  caught  on  to  that.  Say,  Her- 
rick, you  didn't  give  me  away  ?  " 

'*  Oh !  give  you  away ! "  repeated  Herrick  with  weary, 
querulous  scorn.  *'What  was  there  to  give  away? 
We're  transparent;  we've  got  rascal  branded  on  us;  de- 
tected rascal  —  detected  rascal!  Why,  before  he  came 
on  board,  there  was  the  name  painted  out,  and  he  saw 
the  whole  thing.  He  made  sure  we  would  kill  him 
there  and  then,  and  stood  guying  you  and  Huish  on  the 
chance.  He  calls  that  being  frightened !  Next  he  had 
me  ashore ;  a  fine  time  I  had !  The  two  wolves,  he  calls 
you  and  Huish.  What  is  the  puppy  doing  with  the  two 
wolves  ?  he  asked.  He  showed  me  his  pearls ;  he  said 
they  might  be  dispersed  before  morning,  and  all  hung 
by  a  hair — and  smiled  as  he  said  it ;  such  a  smile !  Oh, 
it's  no  use,  I  tell  you !  He  knows  all ;  he  sees  through 
all.  We  only  make  him  laugh  with  our  pretences  —  he 
looks  at  us,  and  laughs  like  God!  " 

There  was  a  silence.  Davis  stood  with  contorted 
brows,  gazing  into  the  night. 

**The  pearls?"  he  said  suddenly.  **He  showed 
them  to  you  ?    He  has  them  ?  " 

358 


THE  OPEN   DOOR 

''No,  he  didn't  show  them.  I  forgot;  only  the  safe 
they  were  in,"  said  Herrick.  "But  you'll  never  get 
them!" 

**rve  two  words  to  say  to  that,"  said  the  captain. 

**Do  you  think  he  would  have  been  so  easy  at  table 
unless  he  was  prepared?"  cried  Herrick.  ''The  ser- 
vants were  both  armed.  He  was  armed  himself;  he 
always  is,  he  told  me.  You  will  never  deceive  his  vig- 
ilance. Davis,  I  know  it!  It's  all  up,  I  tell  you,  and 
keep  telling  you,  and  proving  it.  All  up;  all  up!  There's 
nothing  for  it,  there's  nothing  to  be  done.  All  gone  — 
life,  honour,  love.  O  my  God!  my  God!  why  was  I 
born?" 

Another  pause  followed  upon  this  outburst. 

The  captain  put  his  hands  to  his  brow. 

" Another  thing! "  he  broke  out.  "Why  did  he  tell 
you  all  this  ?    Seems  like  madness  to  me." 

Herrick  shook  his  head  with  gloomy  iteration.  "  You 
wouldn't  understand  if  i  were  to  tell  you,"  said  he. 

"  I  guess  I  can  understand  any  blame'  thing  that  you 
can  tell  me,"  said  the  captain. 

"Well,  then,  he's  a  fatalist,"  said  Herrick. 

"What's  that  — a  fatalist?"  said  Davis. 

"Oh,  it's  a  fellow  that  believes  a  lot  of  things,"  said 
Herrick.  "Believes  that  his  bullets  go  true ;  believes 
that  all  falls  out  as  God  chooses,  do  as  you  like  to  pre- 
vent it;  and  all  that." 

"Why,  I  guess  I  believe  right  so  myself,"  said  Davis. 

"You  do?"  said  Herrick. 

"You  bet  I  do!"  said  Davis. 

Herrick  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Well,  you  must  be 
a  fool,"  said  he,  and  he  leaned  his  head  upon  his  knees. 

359 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

The  captain  stood  biting  his  hands. 

*' There's  one  thing  sure,"  he  said  at  last.  '*I  must 
get  Huish  out  of  that.  He's  not  fit  to  hold  his  end  up 
with  a  man  like  you  describe." 

And  he  turned  to  go  away.  The  words  had  been 
quite  simple;  not  so  the  tone,  and  the  other  was  quick 
to  catch  it. 

"Davis!"  he  cried,  **no!  Don't  do  it  I  Spare  me, 
and  don't  do  it!  Spare  yourself,  and  leave  it  alone  — 
for  God's  sake!  for  your  children's  sake!  " 

His  voice  rose  to  a  passionate  shrillness ;  another  mo- 
ment, and  he  might  be  overheard  by  their  not  distant 
victim.  But  Davis  turned  on  him  with  a  savage  oath 
and  gesture;  and  the  miserable  young  man  rolled  over 
on  his  face  on  the  sand,  and  lay  speechless  and  helpless. 

The  captain  meanwhile  set  out  rapidly  for  Attwater's 
house.  As  he  went,  he  considered  with  himself  eagerly, 
his  thoughts  racing.  The  man  had  understood ;  he  had 
mocked  them  from  the  beginning.  He  would  teach  him 
to  make  a  mockery  of  John  Davis!  Herrick  thought 
him  a  god.  Give  him  a  second  to  aim  in,  and  the  god 
was  overthrown.  He  chuckled  as  he  felt  the  butt  of 
his  revolver.  It  should  be  done  now,  as  he  went  in. 
From  behind  ?  It  was  difficult  to  get  there.  From 
across  the  table?  No;  the  captain  preferred  to  shoot 
standing,  so  as  you  could  be  sure  to  get  your  hand  upon 
your  gun.  The  best  would  be  to  summon  Huish,  and 
when  Attwater  stood  up  and  turned  —  ah,  then  would 
be  the  moment!  Wrapped  in  this  ardent  prefiguration 
of  events,  the  captain  posted  towards  the  house  with 
his  head  down. 

*'  Hands  up!    Halt!  "  cried  the  voice  of  Attwater. 
360 


THE  OPEN   DOOR 

And  the  captain,  before  he  knew  what  he  was  doing, 
had  obeyed.  The  surprise  was  complete  and  irremedi- 
able. Coming  on  the  top  crest  of  his  murderous  inten- 
tions, he  had  walked  straight  into  an  ambuscade,  and 
now  stood,  with  his  hands  impotently  lifted,  staring  at 
the  verandah. 

The  party  was  now  broken  up.  Attwater  leaned  on 
a  post,  and  kept  Davis  covered  with  a  Winchester. 
One  of  the  servants  was  hard  by,  with  a  second  at  the 
port  arms,  leaning  a  little  forward,  round-eyed  with 
eager  expectancy.  In  the  open  space  at  the  head  of  the 
stair,  Huish  was  partly  supported  by  the  other  native, 
his  face  wreathed  in  meaningless  smiles,  his  mind 
seemingly  sunk  in  the  contemplation  of  an  unlighted 
cigar. 

,     **Well,"  said  Attwater,  *'you  seem  to  me  to  be  a 
very  twopenny  pirate! " 

The  captain  uttered  a  sound  in  his  throat  for  which 
we  have  no  name;  rage  choked  him. 

**rm  going  to  give  you  Mr.  Whish  —  or  the  wine- 
sop  that  remains  of  him,"  continued  Attwater.  *'He 
talks  a  great  deal  when  he  drinks.  Captain  Davis  of  the 
Sea  Ranger.  But  I  have  quite  done  with  him,  and  re- 
turn the  article  with  thanks.  Now,"  he  cried  sharply, 
*' another  false  movement  like  that,  and  your  family 
will  have  to  deplore  the  loss  of  an  invaluable  parent; 
keep  strictly  still,  Davis." 

Attwater  said  a  word  in  the  native,  his  eye  still  un- 
deviatingly  fixed  on  the  captain,  and  the  servant  thrust 
Huish  smartly  forward  from  the  brink  of  the  stair. 
With  an  extraordinary  simultaneous  dispersion  of  his 
members,  that  gentleman  bounded  forth  into   space, 

361 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

Struck  the  earth,  ricochetted,  and  brought  up  with  his 
arms  about  a  palm.  His  mind  was  quite  a  stranger  to 
these  events.  The  expression  of  anguish  that  deformed 
his  countenance  at  the  moment  of  the  leap  was  probably 
mechanical.  And  he  suffered  these  convulsions  in  si- 
lence; clung  to  the  tree  like  an  infant;  and  seemed,  by 
his  dips,  to  suppose  himself  engaged  in  the  pastime  of 
bobbing  for  apples.  A  more  finely  sympathetic  mind, 
or  a  more  observant  eye,  might  have  remarked,  a  little 
in  front  of  him  on  the  sand,  and  still  quite  beyond  reach, 
the  unlighted  cigar. 

**  There  is  your  Whitechapel  carrion !  "  said  Attwater, 
*' And  now  you  might  very  well  ask  me  why  I  do  not 
put  a  period  to  you  at  once,  as  you  deserve.  I  will  tell 
you  why,  Davis.  It  is  because  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  Sea  Ranger  and  the  people  you  drowned,  or 
the  FaraUone  and  the  champagne  that  you  stole.  That 
is  your  account  with  God;  He  keeps  it,  and  He  will 
sejtle  it  when  the  clock  strikes.  In  my  own  case,  I 
have  nothing  to  go  on  but  suspicion ;  and  I  do  not  kill 
on  suspicion,  not  even  vermin  like  you.  But  under- 
stand ;  if  ever  I  see  any  of  you  again,  it  is  another  mat- 
ter, and  you  shall  eat  a  bullet.  And  now  take  yourself 
off.  March !  And  as  you  value  what  you  call  your  life, 
keep  your  hands  up  as  you  go !  " 

The  captain  remained  as  he  was,  his  hands  up,  his 
mouth  open,  mesmerised  with  fury. 

**  March ! "  said  Attwater.     *'  One,  two,  three ! " 

And  Davis  turned  and  passed  slowly  away.  But 
even  as  he  went,  he  was  meditating  a  prompt,  offen- 
sive return.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  he  had  leaped 
behind  a  tree,  and  was  crouching  there,  pistol  in  hand, 

^2 


THE  OPEN   DOOR 

peering  from  either  side  of  his  place  of  ambush  with 
bared  teeth,  a  serpent  already  poised  to  strike.  And 
already  he  was  too  late.  Attwater  and  his  servants  had 
disappeared,  and  only  the  lamps  shone  on  the  deserted 
table  and  the  bright  sand  about  the  house,  and  threw 
into  the  night  in  all  directions  the  strong  and  tall  shad- 
ows of  the  palms. 

Davis  ground  his  teeth.  Where  were  they  gone,  the 
cowards?  To  what  hole  had  they  retreated  beyond 
reach  ?  It  was  in  vain  he  should  try  anything  —  he, 
single,  and  with  a  second-hand  revolver,  against  three 
persons  armed  with  Winchesters,  and  who  did  not 
show  an  ear  out  of  any  of  the  apertures  of  that  lighted 
and  silent  house.  Some  of  them  might  have  already 
ducked  below  it  from  the  rear,  and  be  drawing  a  bead 
upon  him  at  that  moment  from  the  low-browed  crypt, 
the  receptacle  of  empty  bottles  and  broken  crockery. 
No,  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  bring  away  (if 
it  were  still  possible)  his  shattered  and  demoralised 
forces. 

"  Huish,"  he  said,  '*  come  along." 

'"s  loss  my  ciga',"  said  Huish,  reaching  vaguely  for- 
ward. 

The  captain  let  out  a  rasping  oath.  *' Come  right 
along  here!"  said  he. 

*'  's  all  righ'.  Sleep  here  'th  Atty — Attwa.  Go  boar' 
t'morr',"  replied  the  festive  one. 

*Mf  you  don't  come,  and  come  now,  by  the  living 
God  I'll  shoot  you!  "  cried  the  captain. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  sense  of  these  words 
in  any  way  penetrated  to  the  mind  of  Huish;  rather 
that,  in  a  fresh  attempt  upon  the  cigar,  he  over-balanced 


THE  EBB   TIDE 

himself,  and  came  flying  erratically  forward,  a  course 
which  brought  him  within  reach  of  Davis. 

"Now  you  walk  straight," said  the  captain,  clutching 
him,  **or  I'll  know  why  not." 

***s  loss  my  ciga',"  replied  Huish. 

The  captain's  contained  fury  blazed  up  for  a  moment. 
He  twisted  Huish  round,  grasped  him  by  the  neck  of  the 
coat,  ran  him  in  front  of  him  to  the  pier  end,  and  flung 
him  savagely  forward  on  his  face. 

**Look  for  your  cigar,  then,  you  swine!"  said  he; 
and  blew  his  boat-call  till  the  pea  in  it  ceased  to  rattle. 

An  immediate  activity  responded  on  board  the  Faral- 
lone;  far  away  voices,  and  soon  the  sound  of  oars, 
floated  along  the  surface  of  the  lagoon ;  and  at  the  same 
time,  from  nearer  hand,  Herrick  aroused  himself  and 
strolled  languidly  up.  He  bent  over  the  insignificant 
figure  of  Huish,  where  it  grovelled,  apparently  insen- 
sible, at  the  base  of  the  figure-head. 

**Dead?"  he  asked. 

*'No,  he's  not  dead,"  said  Davis. 

'*And  Attwater?"  asked  Herrick. 

*'  Now  you  just  shut  your  head ! "  replied  Davis.  **  You 
can  do  that,  I  fancy ;  and  by  God,  I'll  show  you  how !  I'll 
stand  no  more  of  your  drivel." 

They  waited  accordingly  in  silence  till  the  boat  bumped 
on  the  farthest  piers,  then  raised  Huish,  head  and  heels, 
carried  him  down  the  gangway,  and  flung  him  sum- 
marily in  the  bottom.  On  the  way  out  he  was  heard 
murmuring  of  the  loss  of  his  cigar;  and  after  he  had 
been  handed  up  the  side  like  baggage,  and  cast  down 
in  the  alleyway  to  slumber,  his  last  audible  expression 
was:  "Splen'l  fl'  Attwa!"    This  the  expert  construed 

364 


THE  OPEN  DOOR 

into  ''Splendid  fellow,  Attwater! "  With  so  much  in- 
nocence had  this  great  spirit  issued  from  the  adventures 
of  the  evening. 

The  captain  went  and  walked  in  the  waist  with 
brief,  irate  turns;  Herrick  leaned  his  arms  on  the  taff- 
rail;  the  crew  had  all  turned  in.  The  ship  had  a  gen- 
tle, cradling  motion ;  at  times  a  block  piped  like  a  bird. 
On  shore,  through  the  colonnade  of  palm  stems,  Att- 
water's  house  was  to  be  seen  shining  steadily  with 
many  lamps.  And  there  was  nothing  else  visible, 
whether  in  the  heaven  above  or  in  the  lagoon  below, 
but  the  stars  and  their  reflections.  It  might  have  been 
minutes  or  it  might  have  been  hours  that  Herrick 
leaned  there,  looking  in  the  glorified  water  and  drink- 
ing peace.  **  A  bath  of  stars,"  he  was  thinking,  when 
a  hand  was  laid  at  last  on  his  shoulder. 

**  Herrick,'*  said  the  captain,  '*  I've  been  walking  off 
my  trouble." 

A  sharp  jar  passed  through  the  young  man,  but  he 
neither  answered  nor  so  much  as  turned  his  head. 

**I  guess  I  spoke  a  little  rough  to  you  on  shore," 
pursued  the  captain.  **The  fact  is,  I  was  real  mad; 
but  now  it's  over  and  you  and  me  have  to  turn  to  and 
think." 

**  I  will  not  think,"  said  Herrick. 

**Here,  old  man,"  said  Davis  kindly,  "this  won't 
fight,  you  know.  You've  got  to  brace  up  and  help 
me  get  things  straight.  You're  not  going  back  on  a 
friend?    That's  not  like  you,  Herrick." 

**0h,  yes,  it  is,"  said  Herrick. 

"Come,  come!"  said  the  captain,  and  paused  as  if 
quite  at  a  loss.     "Look  here,"  he  cried,  "you  have  a 

36s 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

glass  of  champagne ;  /  won't  touch  it,  so  that'll  show 
you  if  I'm  in  earnest.  But  it's  just  the  pick-me-up  for 
you;  it'll  put  an  edge  on  you  at  once." 

"Oh,  you  leave  me  alone,"  said  Herrick,  and  turned 
away. 

The  captain  caught  him  by  the  sleeve,  and  Herrick 
shook  him  off  and  turned  on  him,  for  the  moment,  like 
a  demoniac. 

"  Go  to  hell  in  your  own  way ! "  he  cried. 

And  he  turned  away  again,  this  time  unchecked,  and 
stepped  forward  to  where  the  boat  rocked  alongside, 
and  ground  occasionally  against  the  schooner.  He 
looked  about  him ;  a  corner  of  the  house  was  interposed 
between  the  captain  and  himself;  all  was  well;  no  eye 
must  see  him  in  that  last  act.  He  slid  silently  in  the 
boat,  thence  silently  into  the  starry  water.  Instinct- 
ively he  swam  a  little;  it  would  be  time  enough  to  stop 
by  and  by. 

The  shock  of  the  immersion  brightened  his  mind 
immediately;  the  events  of  the  ignoble  day  passed  be- 
fore him  in  a  frieze  of  pictures ;  and  he  thanked  *' what- 
ever gods  there  be  "  for  that  open  door  of  suicide.  In 
such  a  little  while  he  would  be  done  with  it,  the  ran- 
dom business  at  an  end,  the  prodigal  son  come  home. 
A  very  bright  planet  shone  before  him  and  drew  a 
trenchant  wake  along  the  water.  He  took  that  for  his 
line  and  followed  it;  that  was  the  last  earthly  thing 
that  he  should  look  upon;  that  radiant  speck,  which 
he  had  soon  magnified  into  a  city  of  Laputa,  along 
whose  terraces  there  walked  men  and  women  of  awful 
and  benignant  features,  who  viewed  him  with  distant 
commiseration.     These  imaginary  spectators  consoled 

366 


THE  OPEN   DOOR 

him;  he  told  himself  their  talk,  one  to  another;  it  was 
of  himself  and  his  sad  destiny. 

From  such  flights  of  fancy  he  was  aroused  by  the 
growing  coldness  of  the  water.  Why  should  he  de- 
lay ?  Here,  where  he  was  now,  let  him  drop  the  cur- 
tain, let  him  seek  the  ineffable  refuge,  let  him  lie  down 
with  all  races  and  generations  of  men  in  the  house  of 
sleep.  It  was  easy  to  say,  easy  to  do.  To  stop  swim- 
ming—  there  was  no  mystery  in  that,  if  he  could  do  it. 
Could  he  ?  And  he.  could  not.  He  knew  it  instantly. 
He  was  aware  instantly  of  an  opposition  in  his  mem- 
bers, unanimous  and  invincible,  clinging  to  life  with  a 
single  and  fixed  resolve,  finger  by  finger,  sinew  by 
sinew;  something  that  was  at  once  he  and  not  he;  at 
once  within  and  without  him;  the  shutting  of  some 
miniature  valve  in  his  brain,  which  a  single  manly 
thought  should  suffice  to  open ;  and  the  grasp  of  an  ex- 
ternal fate  ineluctable  as  gravity.  To  any  man  there  may 
come  at  times  a  consciousness  that  there  blows  through 
all  the  articulations  of  his  body  the  wind  of  a  spirit  not 
wholly  his;  that  his  mind  rebels;  that  another  girds 
him  and  carries  him  whither  he  would  not.  It  came 
now  to  Herrick,  with  the  authority  of  a  revelation. 
There  was  no  escape  possible.  The  open  door  was 
closed  in  his  recreant  face.  He  must  go  back  into  the 
world  and  amongst  men  without  illusion.  He  must 
stagger  on  to  the  end  with  the  pack  of  his  responsibility 
and  his  disgrace,  until  a  cold,  a  blow,  a  merciful  chance 
ball,  or  the  more  merciful  hangman,  should  dismiss 
him  from  his  infamy.  There  were  men  who  could 
commit  suicide:  there  were  men  who  could  not;  and 
he  was  one  who  could  not. 

367 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

For  perhaps  a  minute  there  raged  in  his  mind  the 
coil  of  this  discovery ;  then  cheerless  certitude  followed, 
and,  with  an  incredible  simplicity  of  submission  to  as- 
certained fact,  he  turned  round  and  struck  out  for  shore. 
There  was  a  courage  in  this  which  he  could  not  ap- 
preciate, the  ignobility  of  his  cowardice  wholly  occu- 
pying him.  A  strong  current  set  against  him  like  a 
wind  in  his  face;  he  contended  with  it  heavily,  wearily, 
without  enthusiasm,  but  with  substantial  advantage; 
marking  his  progress  the  while,  without  pleasure,  by 
the  outline  of  the  trees.  Once  he  had  a  moment  of 
hope.  He  heard  to  the  southward  of  him,  towards  the 
centre  of  the  lagoon,  the  wallowing  of  some  great  fish, 
doubtless  a  shark,  and  paused  for  a  little,  treading  wa- 
ter. Might  not  this  be  the  hangman?  he  thought. 
But  the  wallowing  died  away;  mere  silence  succeeded; 
and  Herrick  pushed  out  again  for  the  shore,  raging  as 
he  went  at  his  own  nature.  Ay,  he  would  wait  for  the 
shark;  but  if  he  had  heard  him  coming —  His  smile 
was  tragic.     He  could  have  spat  upon  himself. 

About  three  in  the  morning,  chance  and  the  set  of 
the  current,  and  the  bias  of  his  own  right-handed  body, 
so  decided  it  between  them  that  he  came  to  shore  upon 
the  beach  in  front  of  Attwater's.  There  he  sat  down, 
and  looked  forth  into  a  world  without  any  of  the  lights 
of  hope.  The  poor  diving-dress  of  self-conceit  was 
sadly  tattered.  With  the  fairy  tale  of  suicide,  of  a  ref- 
uge always  open  to  him,  he  had  hitherto  beguiled  and 
supported  himself  in  the  trials  of  life;  and  behold!  that 
also  was  only  a  fairy  tale ;  that  also  was  folk-lore.  With 
the  consequences  of  his  acts  he  saw  himself  implacably 
confronted  for  the  duration  of  life,  stretched  upon  a 

368 


THE  OPEN   DOOR 

cross,  and  nailed  there  with  the  iron  bolts  of  his  own 
cowardice.  He  had  no  tears,  he  told  himself  no  stories. 
His  disgust  with  himself  was  so  complete,  that  even 
the  process  of  apologetic  mythology  had  ceased.  He 
was  like  a  man  cast  down  from  a  pillar  and  every  bone 
broken;  he  lay  there,  and  admitted  the  facts,  and  did 
not  attempt  to  rise. 

Dawn  began  to  break  over  the  far  side  of  the  atoll, 
the  sky  brightened,  the  clouds  became  dyed  with  gor- 
geous colours,  the  shadows  of  the  night  lifted.  And 
suddenly  Herrick  was  aware  that  the  lagoon  and  the 
trees  wore  again  their  daylight  livery ;  and  he  saw,  on 
board  the  Farallone,  Davis  extinguishing  the  lantern, 
and  smoke  rising  from  the  galley. 

Davis,  without  doubt,  remarked  and  recognised  the 
figure  on  the  beach  —  or,  perhaps,  hesitated  to  recog- 
nise it  —  for  after  he  had  gazed  a  long  while  from  un- 
der his  hand,  he  went  into  the  house  and  fetched  a 
glass.  It  was  very  powerful;  Herrick  had  often  used 
it.  With  an  instinct  of  shame,  he  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

''And  what  brings  you  here,  Mr.  Herrick-Hay,  or 
Mr.  Hay-Herrick  ?  "  asked  the  voice  of  Attwater.  ''Your 
back  view  from  my  present  position  is  remarkably  fme, 
and  I  would  continue  to  present  it.  We  can  get  on  very 
nicely  as  we  are,  and  if  you  were  to  turn  round,  do 
you  know,  I  think  it  would  be  awkward." 

Herrick  slowly  rose  to  his  feet;  his  heart  throbbed 
hard;  a  hideous  excitement  shook  him,  but  he  was 
master  of  himself  Slowly  he  turned  and  faced  Att- 
water and  the  muzzle  of  a  pointed  rifle.  "Why  could 
I  not  do  that  last  night  ?  '*  he  thought. 

369 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

"Well,  why  don't  you  fire?"  he  said  aloud,  with  a 
voice  that  trembled. 

Attwater  slowly  put  his  gun  under  his  arm,  then  his 
hands  in  his  pockets. 

'*What  brings  you  here  ?"  he  repeated. 

*'I  don't  know,"  said  Herrick;  and  then,  with  a  cry, 
'*  Can  you  do  anything  with  me  ?" 

*'Are  you  armed?"  said  Attwater.  **I  ask  for  the 
form's  sake." 

*' Armed?  No!"  said  Herrick.  *'0h,  yes,  I  am, 
too  I " 

And  he  flung  upon  the  beach  a  dripping  pistol. 

*' You  are  wet,"  said  Attwater. 

*' Yes,  I  am  wet,"  said  Herrick.  '*Can  you  do  any- 
thing with  me  ?  " 

Attwater  read  his  face  attentively. 

"  It  would  depend  a  good  deal  upon  what  you  are," 
said  he. 

**  What  ?    I  am  a  coward ! "  said  Herrick. 

''There  is  very  little  to  be  done  with  that,"  said 
Attwater.  "And  yet  the  description  hardly  strikes  one 
as  exhaustive." 

"  Oh !  what  does  it  matter  ?  "  cried  Herrick.  **  Here 
I  am.  I  am  broken  crockery ;  the  whole  of  my  life  is 
gone  to  water;  I  have  nothing  left  that  I  believe  in,  ex- 
cept my  living  horror  of  myself  Why  do  I  come  to 
you  ?  I  don't  know.  You  are  cold,  cruel,  hateful ;  and 
I  hate  you,  or  I  think  I  hate  you.  But  you  are  an  honest 
man,  an  honest  gentleman.  I  put  myself  helpless  in 
your  hands.  What  must  I  do  ?  If  I  can't  do  anything, 
be  merciful,  and  put  a  bullet  through  me;  it's  only  a 
puppy  with  a  broken  leg ! " 

370 


THE  OPEN   DOOR 

'*  If  I  were  you,  I  would  pick  up  that  pistol,  come  up 
to  the  house,  and  put  on  some  dry  clothes,"  said 
Attwater. 

"  If  you  really  mean  it  ?  "  said  Herrick.  **  You  know 
they  —  we  —  they  —    But  you  know  all. " 

'*I  know  quite  enough,"  said  Attwater.  **  Come  up 
to  the  house." 

And  the  captain,  from  the  deck  of  the  Farallone,  saw 
the  two  men  pass  together  under  the  shadow  of  the 
grove. 


37» 


CHAPTER  XI 

DAVID    AND   GOLIATH 

HuiSH  had  bundled  himself  up  from  the  glare  of  the 
day,  his  face  to  the  house,  his  knees  retracted ;  the  frail 
bones  in  the  thin  tropical  raiment  seemed  scarce  more 
considerable  then  a  fowl's;  and  Davis,  sitting  on  the 
rail,  with  his  arm  about  a  stay,  contemplated  him  with 
gloom,  wondering  what  manner  of  counsel  that  insig- 
nificant figure  should  contain.  For  since  Herrick  had 
thrown  him  off  and  deserted  to  the  enemy,  Huish, 
alone  of  mankind,  remained  to  him  to  be  a  helper  and 
oracle. 

He  considered  their  position  with  a  sinking  heart. 
The  ship  was  a  stolen  ship ;  the  stores,  whether  from 
initial  carelessness  or  ill  administration  during  the  voy- 
age, were  insufficient  to  carry  them  to  any  port  except 
back  to  Papeete;  and  there  retribution  waited  in  the 
shape  of  a  gendarme,  a  judge  with  a  queer-shaped  hat, 
and  the  horror  of  distant  Noumea.  Upon  that  side  there 
was  no  glimmer  of  hope.  Here,  at  the  island,  the  dragon 
was  roused ;  Attwater  with  his  men  and  his  Winchesters 
watched  and  patrolled  the  house;  let  him  who  dare 
approach  it.  What  else  was  then  left  but  to  sit  there 
inactive,  pacing  the  decks,  until  the  Trinity  Hall  arrived, 
and  they  were  cast  into  irons,  or  until  the  food  came  to 

37a 


DAVID   AND  GOLIATH 

an  end,  and  the  pangs  of  famine  succeeded  ?  For  the 
Trinity  Hall  Davis  was  prepared.  He  would  barricade 
the  house,  and  die  there,  defending  it,  like  a  rat  in  a 
crevice.  But  for  the  other  ?  The  cruise  of  the  Farallone, 
into  which  he  had  plunged,  only  a  fortnight  before,  with 
such  golden  expectations,  could  this  be  the  nightmare 
end  of  it, — the  ship  rotting  at  anchor,  the  crew  stum- 
bling and  dying  in  the  scuppers  }  It  seemed  as  if  any 
extreme  of  hazard  were  to  be  preferred  to  so  grisly  a 
certainty ;  as  if  it  would  be  better  to  up-anchor,  after  all, 
put  to  sea  at  a  venture,  and  perhaps  perish  at  the  hands 
of  cannibals  on  one  of  the  more  obscure  Paumotus.  His 
eye  roved  swiftly  over  sea  and  sky  in  quest  of  any 
promise  of  wind,  but  the  fountains  of  the  Trade  were 
empty.  Where  it  had  run  yesterday,  and  for  weeks 
before,  a  roaring  blue  river  charioting  clouds,  silence 
now  reigned,  and  the  whole  height  of  the  atmosphere 
stood  balanced.  On  the  endless  ribbon  of  island  that 
stretched  out  to  either  hand  of  him  its  array  of  golden 
and  green  and  silvery  palms,  not  the  most  volatile  frond 
was  to  be  seen  stirring;  they  drooped  to  their  stable 
images  in  the  lagoon  like  things  carved  of  metal,  and 
already  their  long  line  began  to  reverberate  heat.  There 
was  no  escape  possible  that  day,  none  probable  on  the 
morrow.    And  still  the  stores  were  running  out. 

Then  came  over  Davis,  from  deep  down  in  the  roots 
of  his  being,  or  at  least  from  far  back  among  his  memo- 
ries of  childhood  and  innocence,  a  wave  of  superstition. 
This  run  of  ill-luck  was  something  beyond  natural ;  the 
chances  of  the  game  were  in  themselves  more  various; 
it  seemed  as  if  the  devil  must  serve  the  pieces.  The 
devil  ?    He  heard  again  the  clear  note  of  Attwater's  bell 

373 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

ringing  abroad  into  the  night,  and  dying  away.     How, 
if  God ? 

Briskly  he  averted  his  mind.  Attwater — that  was 
the  point.  Attwater  had  food  and  a  treasure  of  pearls ; 
escape  made  possible  in  the  present,  riches  in  the  future. 
They  must  come  to  grips  with  Attwater ;  the  man  must 
die.  A  smoky  heat  went  over  his  face  as  he  recalled 
the  impotent  figure  he  had  made  last  night,  and  the 
contemptuous  speeches  he  must  bear  in  silence.  Rage, 
shame,  and  the  love  of  life  all  pointed  the  one  way;  and 
only  invention  halted.  How  to  Yeach  him  ?  Had  he 
strength  enough  ?  Was  there  any  help  in  that  misbe- 
gotten packet  of  bones  against  the  house  ? 

His  eyes  dwelled  upon  him  with  a  strange  avidity,  as 
though  he  would  read  into  his  soul ;  and  presently  the 
sleeper  moved,  stirred  uneasily,  turned  suddenly  round, 
and  threw  him  a  blinking  look.  Davis  maintained  the 
same  dark  stare,  and  Huish  looked  away  again  and  sat 
up. 

"Lord,  I've  an  'eadache  on  me!"  said  he.  **I  be- 
lieve I  was  a  bit  swipey  last  night.  W'ere's  that  cry- 
byby,  'Errick  ?  " 

''Gone,"  said  the  captain.. 

''Ashore  ?"  cried  Huish.    "Oh,  I  say,  I'd  'a'  gone,  too.*" 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  the  captain. 

"Yes,  I  would,"  replied  Huish.  "I  like  Attwater; 
'e's  all  right;  we  got  on  like  one  o'clock  when  you 
were  gone.  And  ain't  his  sherry  in  it,  rather?  It's 
like  Spiers  and  Pond's  Amontillado!  I  wish  I  'ad  a 
drain  of  it  now,"  he  sighed. 

"Well,  you'll  never  get  no  more  of  it,  that's  one 
thing,"  said  Davis,  gravely. 

374 


DAVID  AND   GOLIATH 

'*  'Ere!  wot's  wrong  with  you,  Dyvis?  Coppers  'ot? 
Well,  look  at  me!  /ain't  grumpy,"  said  Huish.  'M'm 
as  plyful  as  a  canyry-bird,  I  am." 

**  Yes,"  said  Davis,  '^you're  playful,  I  own  that;  and 
you  were  playful  last  night,  I  believe,  and  a  damned 
fine  performance  you  made  of  it." 

'"Alio!"  said  Huish.  '"Ow's  this?  Wot  per- 
formance ?  " 

*' Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  said  the  captain,  getting  slowly 
off  the  rail. 

And  he  did,  at  full  length,  with  every  wounding  epi- 
thet and  absurd  detail  repeated  and  emphasised;  he  had 
his  own  vanity  and  Huish's  upon  the  grill  and  roasted 
them ;  and  as  he  spoke  he  inflicted  and  endured  agonies 
of  humiliation.  It  was  a  plain  man's  master-piece  of 
the  sardonic. 

*' What  do  you  think  of  it?"  said  he,  when  he  had 
done,  and  looked  down  at  Huish,  flushed  and  serious, 
and  yet  jeering. 

'M'll  tell  you  wot  it  is,"  was  the  reply,  **you  and  me 
cut  a  pretty  dicky  figure." 

** That's  so,"  said  Davis;  '*a  pretty  measly  figure, 
by  God !  And,  by  God !  I  want  to  see  that  man  at  my 
knees." 

''  Ah ! "  said  Huish.     **  'Ow  to  get  him  there  ?  " 

* '  That's  it !  "  cried  Davis.  * '  How  to  get  hold  to  him ! 
They're  four  to  two,  though  there's  only  one  man  among 
them  to  count,  and  that's  Attwater.  Get  a  bead  on 
Attwater,  and  the  others  would  cut  and  run  and  sing 
out  like  frightened  poultry,  and  old  man  Herrick  would 
come  round  with  his  hat  for  a  share  of  the  pearls.  No, 
sir!    It's  how  to  get  hold  of  Attwater!    And  we  daren't 

375 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

even  go  ashore.     He  would  shoot  us  in  the  boat  like 
dogs." 

"Are  you  particular  about  having  him  dead  or  alive?" 
asked  Huish. 

"I  want  to  see  him  dead,"  said  the  captain. 

''Ah,  well,"  said  Huish.  ''Then  I  believe  Til  do  a 
bit  of  breakfast. " 

And  he  turned  into  the  house. 

The  captain  doggedly  followed  him. 

"  What's  this  ?  "  he  asked.  "  What's  your  idea, 
anyway?" 

"Oh,  you  let  me  alone,  will  you?"  said  Huish, 
opening  a  bottle  of  champagne.  "You'll  'ear  my  idea 
soon  enough.  Wyte  till  I  pour  some  cham  on  my  'ot 
coppers."  He  drank  a  glass  off,  and  affected  to  listen. 
'"Ark!"  said  he,  "'ear  it  fizz.  Like  'am  fryin',  I  de- 
clare.    'Ave  a  glass,  do,  and  look  sociable." 

"  No,"  said  the  captain,  with  emphasis.  "  No,  I  will 
not.     There's  business." 

"  You  p'ys  your  money  and  you  tykes  your  choice, 
my  little  man, "  returned  Huish.  ' '  Seems  rather  a  shyme 
to  me  to  spoil  your  breakfast  for  wot's  really  ancient 
'istory." 

He  finished  three  parts  of  a  bottle  of  champagne  and 
nibbled  a  corner  of  biscuit  with  extreme  deliberation, 
the  captain  sitting  opposite  and  champing  the  bit  like 
an  impatient  horse.  Then  Huish  leaned  his  arms  on  the 
table  and  looked  Davis  in  the  face. 

"  W'en  you're  ready,"  said  he. 

"Well,  now,  what's  your  idea?"  said  Davis,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  Fair  play ! "  said  Huish.     "  What's  yours  ?" 
376 


DAVID   AND  GOLIATH 

**The  trouble  is  that  I've  got  none,"  replied  Davis; 
and  wandered  for  some  time  in  aimless  discussion  of 
the  difficulties  in  their  path,  and  useless  explanations  of 
his  own  fiasco. 

** About  done?"  said  Huish. 

"I'll  dry  up  right  here,"  replied  Davis. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Huish,  "you  give  me  your 'and 
across  the  table,  and  say :  '  Gawd  strike  me  dead  if  I 
don't  back  you  up.'" 

His  voice  was  hardly  raised,  yet  it  thrilled  the  hearer. 
His  face  seemed  the  epitome  of  cunning,  and  the  cap- 
tain recoiled  from  it  as  from  a  blow. 

"What  for?"  said  he. 

"Luck,"  said  Huish.  "Substantial  guarantee  de- 
manded." 

And  he  continued  to  hold  out  his  hand. 

"I  don't  see  the  good  of  any  such  tomfoolery,"  said 
the  other. 

"I  do,  though,"  returned  Huish.  "Gimme  your 
'and  and  say  the  words,  then  you'll  'ear  my  view  of  it. 
Don't,  and  you  don't." 

The  captain  went  through  the  required  form,  breath- 
ing short,  and  gazing  on  the  clerk  with  anguish.  What 
to  fear  he  knew  not ;  yet  he  feared  slavishly  what  was 
to  fall  from  these  pale  lips. 

"Now,  if  you'll  excuse  me'alfa  second,  "said  Huish, 
"  I'll  go  and  fetch  the  by  by." 

"  The  baby  ?  "  said  Davis.     "  What's  that  ?  " 

"Fragile.  With  care.  This  side  up,"  replied  the 
clerk,  with  a  wink,  as  he  disappeared. 

He  returned,  smiling  to  himself,  and  carrying  in  his 
hand  a  silk  handkerchief.     The  long,  stupid  wrinkles 

377 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

ran  up  Davis's  brow  as  he  saw  it.  What  should  it  con- 
tain ?  He  could  think  of  nothing  more  recondite  than 
a  revolver. 

Huish  resumed  his  seat. 

*  *  Now, "  said  he,  ' '  are  you  man  enough  to  take  charge 
of  'Errick  and  the  niggers  ?  Because  I'll  take  care  of 
Hattwater." 

''How?"  cried  Davis.     ''You  can't!" 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  the  clerk.  "You  gimme  time. 
Wofs  the  first  point  ?  The  first  point  is,  that  we  can't 
get  ashore;  and  I'll  make  you  a  present  of  that  for  a 
'ard  one.  But  'ow  about  a  flag  of  truce  ?  Would  that 
do  the  trick,  d'ye  think,  or  would  Attwater  simply 
blyze  aw'y  at  us  in  the  bloomin'  boat  like  dawgs  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Davis,  "I  don't  believe  he  would." 

"No  more  do  I,"  said  Huish.  "I  don't  believe  he 
would,  either;  and  I'm  sure  I  'ope  he  won't.  So  then 
you  can  call  us  ashore.  Next  point  is  to  get  near  the 
managin'  direction.  And  for  that  I'm  going  to  'ave  you 
write  a  letter,  in  w'ich  you  s'y  you're  ashymed  to  meet 
his  eye,  and  that  the  bearer,  Mr.  J.  L.  'Uish,  is  empow- 
ered to  represent  you;  armed  with  w'ich  seemin'ly  sim- 
ple expedient,  Mr.  J.  L.  'Uish  will  proceed  to  business." 

He  paused,  like  one  who  had  finished,  but  still  held 
Davis  with  his  eye. 

"  Ho w  ?  "  said  Davis.     ' '  Why  ?  " 

"Well,  you  see,  you're  big,"  returned  Huish;  '"e 
knows  you  'ave  a  gun  in  your  pocket,  and  anybody  can 
see  with  'alf  an  eye  that  you  ain't  the  man  to  'esitate 
about  usin'  it.  So  it's  no  go  with  you,  and  never  was; 
you're  out  of  the  runnin',  Dyvis.  But  he  won't  be 
afryde  of  me,  I'm  such  a  little  un.     I'm  unarmed  —  no 

378 


DAVID  AND   GOLIATH 

kid  about  that  —  and  I'll  'old  my  'ands  up  right  enough." 
He  paused.  *'If  1  can  manage  to  sneak  up  nearer  to 
him  as  we  talk,"  he  resumed,  *'you  look  out  and  back 
me  up  smart.  If  I  don't,  we  go  aw'y  again,  and  nothink 
to  'urt.     See  ?  " 

The  captain's  face  was  contorted  by  the  frenzied  effort 
to  comprehend. 

''No,  I  don't  see,"  he  cried.  "I  can't  see.  What 
do  you  mean.?" 

**  I  mean  to  do  for  the  Beast! "  cried  Huish,  in  a  burst 
of  venomous  triumph.  "Vl\  bring  the  'ulkin'  bully  to 
grass.  He's  'ad  his  larks  out  of  me:  I'm  goin'  to  'ave 
my  lark  out  of  'im ;  and  a  good  lark,  too !  " 

''What  is  it  ?"  said  the  captain,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"  Sure  you  want  to  know  ?"  asked  Huish. 

Davis  rose  and  took  a  turn  in  the  house. 

"Yes,  I  want  to  know,"  he  said  at  last,  with  an 
effort. 

"  W'en  your  back's  at  the  wall,  you  do  the  best  you 
can,  don't  you  ?  "  began  the  clerk.  "  I  s'y  that,  because 
I  'appen  to  know  there's  a  prejudice  against  it;  it's  con- 
sidered vulgar,  awf'ly  vulgar."  He  unrolled  the  hand- 
kerchief and  showed  a  four-ounce  jar.  "This  'ere's 
vitriol,  this  is,"  said  he. 

The  captain  stared  upon  him  with  a  whitening  face. 

"This  is  the  stuff!"  he  pursued,  holding  it  up. 
"This'll  burn  to  the  bone;  you'll  see  it  smoke  upon  'im 
like  'ell  fire.  One  drop  upon  'is  bloomin'  heyesight,  and 
I'll  trouble  you  for  Attwater!  " 

"No,  no,  by  God!"  exclaimed  the  captain. 

"Now,  see  'ere,  ducky,"  said  Huish,  "this  is  my 
bean-feast,  I  believe  ?    I'm  goin'  up  to  that  man  single- 

379 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

*anded,  I  am.  'E's  about  seven  foot  high  and  I'm  five 
foot  one.  'E's  a  rifle  in  his  'and,  'e's  on  the  look-out; 
'e  wasn't  born  yesterday.  This  is  Dyvid  and  Goliar,  I 
tell  you.  If  I  'ad  ast  you  to  walk  up  and  face  the  music 
I  could  understand.  But  I  don't.  I  on'y  ast  you  to 
stand  by  and  spifflicate  the  niggers.  It'll  all  come  in 
quite  natural;  you'll  see,  else.  Fust  thing  you  know 
you'll  see  him  running  round  and  'owling  like  a  good 
un " 

* '  Don't !  "  said  Davis.     ' '  Don't  talk  of  it ! " 

**Well,  you  ^f^  a  juggins!"  exclaimed  Huish.  "What 
did  you  want  ?  You  wanted  to  kill  him,  and  tried  to 
last  night.  You  wanted  to  kill  the  'ole  lot  of  them,  and 
tried  to,  and  'ere  I  show  you  'ow ;  and  because  there's 
some  medicine  in  a  bottle,  you  kick  up  this  fuss ! " 

'*I  suppose  that's  so,"  said  Davis.  *Mt  don't  seem 
someways  reasonable,  only  there  it  is." 

'*  It's  the  happlication  of  science,  I  suppose  ?  "  sneered 
Huish. 

**I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  cried  Davis,  pacing  the 
floor.  ''It's  there;  I  draw  the  line  at  it.  I  can't  put 
a  finger  to  no  such  piggishness ;  it's  too  damned  hate- 
ful!" 

''And  I  suppose  it's  all  your  fancy  pynted  it,"  said 
Huish,  "w'en  you  take  a  pistol  and  a  bit  o'  lead,  and 
copse  a  man's  brains  all  over  him  ?  No  accountin'  for 
tystes." 

"I'm  not  denying  it,"  said  Davis;  "it's  something 
here,  inside  of  me.  It's  foolishness ;  I  daresay  it's  damn 
foolishness.  I  don't  argue,  I  just  draw  the  line.  Isn't 
there  no  other  way  ?" 

"Look  for  yourself,"  said  Huish.  "I  ain't  wedded 
380 


DAVID  AND   GOLIATH 

to  this,  if  you  think  I  am.  I  ain't  ambitious.  I  don't 
make  a  point  of  playin'  the  lead.  I  offer  to,  that's  all ; 
and  if  you  can't  show  me  better,  by  Gawd,  I'm  goin' 
to!" 

** Then  the  risk!"  cried  Davis. 

"  If  you  ast  me  stryte,  I  should  say  it  was  a  case  of 
seven  to  one  and  no  tykers,"  said  Huish.  **  But  that's 
my  lookout,  ducky,  and  I'm  gyme.  Look  at  me,  Dy vis ; 
there  ain't  any  shilly-shally  about  me.  I'm  gyme,  that's 
what  I  am;  gyme  all  through." 

The  captain  looked  at  him.  Huish  sat  there,  preening 
his  sinister  vanity,  glorying  in  his  precedency  in  evil; 
and  the  villainous  courage  and  readiness  of  the  creature 
shone  out  of  him  like  a  candle  from  a  lantern.  Dismay 
and  a  kind  of  respect  seized  hold  on  Davis  in  his  own 
despite.  Until  that  moment  he  had  seen  the  clerk 
always  hanging  back,  always  listless,  uninterested,  and 
openly  grumbling  at  a  word  of  anything  to  do;  and 
now,  by  the  touch  of  an  enchanter's  wand,  he  beheld 
him  sitting  girt  and  resolved,  and  his  face  radiant.  He 
had  raised  the  devil,  he  thought,  and  asked  who  was  to 
control  him,  and  his  spirits  quailed. 

**Look  as  long  as  you  like,"  Huish  was  going  on. 
**  You  don't  see  any  green  in  my  eye.  I  ain't  afryde  of 
Attwater,  I  ain't  afryde  of  you,  and  I  ain't  afryde  of 
words.  You  want  to  kill  people,  that's  wot  you  want; 
but  you  want  to  do  it  in  kid  gloves,  and  it  can't  be  done 
that  w'y.  Murder  ain't  genteel,  it  ain't  easy,  it  ain't 
safe,  and  it  tykes  a  man  to  do  it.     'Ere's  the  man." 

** Huish!"  began  the  captain  with  energy,  and  then 
stopped,  and  remained  staring  at  him  with  corrugated 
brows. 

381 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

''  Well,  hout  with  it/'  said  Huish.  **  'Ave  you  any- 
think  else  to  put  up  ?    Is  there  any  other  chanst  to  try  ?  " 

The  captain  held  his  peace. 

*' There  you  are,  then,"  said  Huish,  with  a  shrug. 

Davis  fell  again  to  his  pacing. 

**0h,  you  may  do  sentry-go  till  you're  blue  in  the 
mug;  you  won't  find  anythink  else,"  said  Huish. 

There  was  a  little  silence, —  the  captain,  like  a  man 
launched  on  a  swing,  flying  dizzily  among  extremes  of 
conjecture  and  refusal. 

'*  But  see,"  he  said,  suddenly  pausing.  *'  Can  you  ? 
Can  the  thing  be  done  ?    It  —  it  can't  be  easy." 

"If  I  get  within  twenty  foot  of 'im  it'll  be  done;  so 
you  look  out,"  said  Huish,  and  his  tone  of  certainty  was 
absolute. 

"  How  can  you  know  that  ?"  broke  from  the  captain 
in  a  choked  cry.  *'  You  beast,  I  believe  you've  done  it 
before!" 

**0h,  that's  private  afifyres,"  returned  Huish.  *'I 
ain't  a  talking  man." 

A  shock  of  repulsion  struck  and  shook  the  captain. 
A  scream  rose  almost  to  his  lips ;  had  he  uttered  it,  he 
might  have  cast  himself  at  the  same  moment  on  the 
debile  body  of  Huish,  might  have  picked  him  up,  and 
flung  him  down,  and  wiped  the  cabin  with  him  in  a 
frenzy  of  cruelty  that  seemed  half  moral;  but  the  mo- 
ment passed,  and  the  abortive  crisis  left  the  man  weaker. 
The  stakes  were  so  high, —  the  pearls  on  the  one  hand, 
starvation  and  shame  on  the  other.  Ten  years  of  pearls ! 
The  imagination  of  Davis  translated  them  into  a  new, 
glorified  existence  for  himself  and  his  famiiy.  The  seat 
of  fhis  new  life  must  be  in  London, — there  were  deadly 

382 


DAVID   AND   GOLIATH 

reasons  against  Portland,  Maine, — and  the  pictures  that 
came  to  him  were  of  English  manners.  He  saw  his 
boys  marching  in  the  procession  of  a  school,  with 
gowns  on,  an  usher  marshalling  them,  and  reading,  as 
he  walked,  in  a  great  book.  He  was  installed  in  a  villa, 
semi-detached,  the  name,  *'Rosemore,"  on  the  gate- 
posts. In  a  chair  on  the  gravel  walk  he  seemed  to  sit 
smoking  a  cigar,  a  blue  ribbon  in  his  buttonhole,  victor 
over  himself  and  circumstances  and  the  malignity  of 
bankers.  He  saw  the  parlour  with  red  curtains,  and 
shells  on  the  mantel-piece;  and,  with  the  fine  inconsis- 
tency of  visions,  mixed  a  grog  at  the  mahogany  table 
ere  he  turned  in.  With  that  the  FaraUone  gave  one  of 
the  aimless  and  nameless  movements  which  (even  in  an 
anchored  ship  and  even  in  the  most  profound  calm)  re- 
mind one  of  the  mobility  of  fluids;  and  he  was  back 
again  under  the  cover  of  the  house,  the  fierce  daylight 
besieging  it  all  round  and  glaring  in  the  chinks,  and  the 
clerk,  in  a  rather  airy  attitude,  awaiting  his  decision. 

He  began  to  walk  again.  He  aspired  after  the  reali- 
sation of  these  dreams,  like  a  horse  nickering  for  water; 
the  lust  of  them  burned  in  his  inside;  and  the  only  ob- 
stacle was  Attwater,  who  had  insulted  him  from  the 
first.  He  gave  Herrick  a  full  share  of  the  pearls ;  he  in- 
sisted on  it.  Huish  opposed  him,  and  he  trod  the  op- 
position down,  and  praised  himself  exceedingly.  He 
was  not  going  to  use  vitriol  himself  Was  he  Huish's 
keeper?  It  was  a  pity  he  had  asked,  but  after  all  — 
He  saw  the  boys  again  in  the  school  procession,  with 
the  gowns  he  had  thought  to  be  so  *'tony"  long  since 
—  And  at  the  same  time  the  incomparable  shame  of 
the  last  evening  blazed  up  in  his  mind. 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

*'  Have  it  your  own  way,"  he  said  hoarsely. 

**0h,  I  knew  you  would  walk  up,"  said  Huish. 
*'  Now  for  the  letter.  There's  paper,  pens,  and  ink.  Sit 
down,  and  I'll  dictyte." 

The  captain  took  a  seat  and  the  pen,  looked  awhile 
helplessly  at  the  paper,  then  at  Huish.  The  swing  had 
gone  the  other  way ;  there  was  a  blur  upon  his  eyes. 
*'  It's  a  dreadful  business,"  he  said,  with  a  strong  twitch 
of  his  shoulders. 

*'  It's  rather  a  start,  no  doubt,"  said  Huish.  **  Tyke 
a  dip  of  ink.  That's  it.  IViUiam  John  Hattwater,  Esq., 
Sir:''  he  dictated. 

'*  How  do  you  know  his  name  is  William  John  ?  " 
asked  Davis. 

''Saw  it  on  a  packing-case,"  said  Huish.  **Got 
that?" 

**No,"  said  Davis.  *'But  there's  another  thing. 
What  are  we  to  write  ?  " 

* '  Oh,  my  golly ! "  cried  the  exasperated  Huish.  * '  Wot 
kind  of  man  do  you  call  yourself.?  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you 
wot  to  write  —  that's  wy  pitch  —  if  you'll  just  be  so 
bloomin'  condescendin'  as  to  write  it  down !  William 
John  Hattwater,  Esq.,  Sir:**  ho,  reiterated.  And  the 
captain  at  last  beginning  half  mechanically  to  move  his 
pen,  the  dictation  proceeded:  ''It  is  with  feelin's  of 
shyme  and  'artfelt  contrition  that  I  approach  you  after 
the  yumiliatin  events  of  last  night.  Our  Mr.  'Errick 
has  left  the  ship,  and  wiU  have  doubtless  communicated 
to  you  the  nature  of  our  'opes.  Needless  to  s'y,  these 
are  no  longer  possible.  Fate  'as  declyred  against  us, 
and  we  bow  the  'ead.  Well  awyre  as  I  am  of  the  just 
suspicions  with  w'ich  I  am  regarded,  I  do  not  venture 

384 


DAVID  AND  GOLIATH 

to  solicit  the  fyvour  of  an  interview  for  myself;  but  in 
order  to  put  an  end  to  a  situytion  w'ich  must  he  equally 
pyneful  to  all,  I  'ave  deputed  my  friend  and  partner^ 
Mr.  J,  L.  Huish,  to  Vy  before  you  my  proposals,  and 
w'ich  by  their  moderytion  will,  I  trmt,  be  found  to 
merit  your  attention.  Mr.  J.  L.  Huish  is  entirely  un- 
armed, I  swear  to  Gawd!  and  wiU  'old  'is  'ands  over 
'is  'ead  from  the  moment  he  begins  to  approach  you.  I 
am  your  fythful  servant,  John  Dyvis. ' ' 

Huish  read  the  letter  with  the  innocent  joy  of  ama- 
teurs, chuckled  gustfully  to  himself,  and  reopened  it 
more  than  once  after  it  was  folded,  to  repeat  the  plea- 
sure,—  Davis  meanwhile  sitting  inert  and  heavily 
frowning. 

Of  a  sudden  he  rose ;  he  seemed  all  abroad.  * '  No !  " 
he  cried.  *'No!  It  can't  be!  It's  too  much!  It's 
damnation!    God  would  never  forgive  it! " 

**  Well,  and  'oo  wants  him  to  ?  "  returned  Huish,  shrill 
with  fury.  **  You  were  damned  years  ago  for  the  Sea 
Rynger,  and  said  so  yourself.  Well,  then,  be  damned 
for  something  else,  and  'old  your  tongue." 

The  captain  looked  at  him  mistily.  ' '  No, "  he  pleaded, 
"no,  old  man,  don't  do  it." 

'*'Ere  now,"  said  Huish,  **ril  give  you  my  ultimy- 
tum.  Go  or  st'y  w'ere  you  are ;  I  don't  mind ;  I'm  goin' 
to  see  that  man  and  chuck  this  vitriol  in  his  eyes.  If 
you  st'y  I'll  go  alone;  the  niggers  will  likely  knock  me 
on  the  'ead,  and  a  fat  lot  you'll  be  the  better!  But 
there's  one  thing  sure:  I'll  'ear  no  more  of  your  moon- 
in',  mullygrubbin'  rot,  and  tyke  it  stryte." 

The  captain  took  it  with  a  blink  and  a  gulp.  Mem- 
ory, with  phantom  voices,  repeated  in  his  ears  some- 

385 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

thing  similar,  something  he  had  once  said  to  Herrick, 
years  ago,  it  seemed. 

**Now,  gimme  over  your  pistol,"  said  Huish.  **I 
'ave  to  see  all  clear.  Six  shots,  and  mind  you  don't 
wyste  them." 

The  captain,  like  a  man  in  a  nightmare,  laid  down 
his  revolver  on  the  table,  and  Huish  wiped  the  cart- 
ridges and  oiled  the  works. 

It  was  close  on  noon :  there  was  no  breath  of  wind, 
and  the  heat  was  scarce  bearable  when  the  two  men 
came  on  deck,  had  the  boat  manned,  and  passed  down, 
one  after  another,  into  the  stern-sheets.  A  white  shirt 
at  the  end  of  an  oar  served  as  a  flag  of  truce ;  and  the 
men,  by  direction,  and  to  give  it  the  better  chance  to  be 
observed,  pulled  with  extreme  slowness.  The  isle 
shook  before  them  like  a  place  incandescent;  on  the  face 
of  the  lagoon  blinding  copper  suns,  no  bigger  than  six- 
pences, danced  and  stabbed  them  in  the  eyeball.  There 
went  up  from  sand  and  sea,  and  even  from  the  boat,  a 
glare  of  scathing  brightness;  and  as  they  could  only 
peer  abroad  from  between  closed  lashes,  the  excess  of 
light  seemed  to  be  changed  into  a  sinister  darkness, 
comparable  to  that  of  a  thunder-cloud  before  it  bursts. 

The  captain  had  come  upon  this  errand  for  any  one 
of  a  dozen  reasons,  the  last  of  which  was  desire  for  its 
success.  Superstition  rules  all  men;  semi-ignorant  and 
gross  natures,  like  that  of  Davis,  it  rules  utterly.  For 
murder  he  had  been  prepared;  but  this  horror  of  the 
medicine  in  the  bottle  went  beyond  him,  and  he  seemed 
to  himself  to  be  parting  the  last  strands  that  united  him 
to  God.  The  boat  carried  him  on  to  reprobation,  to 
damnation ;  and  he  suffered  himself  to  be  carried,  pas- 

386 


DAVID  AND   GOLIATH 

sively  consenting,  silently  bidding  farewell  to  his  better 
self  and  his  hopes. 

Huish  sat  by  his  side  in  towering  spirits  that  were  not 
wholly  genuine.  Perhaps  as  brave  a  man  as  ever  lived, 
brave  as  a  weasel,  he  must  still  reassure  himself  with 
the  tones  of  his  own  voice;  he  must  play  his  part  to 
exaggeration,  he  must  out-Herod  Herod,  insult  all  that 
was  respectable,  and  brave  all  that  was  formidable,  in  a 
kind  of  desperate  wager  with  himself.  So  the  young 
soldier  may  jest  as  he  goes  into  the  battle ;  so  perhaps, 
of  old,  the  highwaymen  blasphemed  on  the  scaffold. 

''Golly,  but  it's  'ot! "  said  he.  "  Cruel  'ot,  I  call  it. 
Nice  d'y  to  get  your  gruel  in!  I  s'y,  you  know,  it 
must  feel  awf  ly  peculiar  to  get  bowled  over  on  a  d'y 
like  this.  I'd  rather  have  it  on  a  cowld  and  frusty  morn- 
ing, wouldn't  you  ?  [Singing.]  'Ere  we  go  round  the 
mulberry  bush  on  a  cowld  and  frosty  mornin\  [Spo- 
ken.] Give  you  my  word,  1  'aven't  thought  o'  that  in 
ten  years ;  used  to  sing  it  at  a  hinfant  school  in  ' Ack- 
ney  — ' Ackney  Wick  it  was.  [Singing.  ]  This  is  the 
way  the  tyler  does,  the  tyler  does.  [Spoken.]  Bloomin' 
'umbug.  'Ow  are  you  off  now,  for  the  notion  of  a 
future  styte  }  Do  you  cotton  to  the  tea-fight  view,  or 
the  old  red-'ot  Boguey  business  ?" 

*'0h,  dry  up,"  said  the  captain. 

' *  No,  but  I  want  to  know, "  said  Huish.  ' '  It's  within 
the  sp'ere  of  practical  politics  for  you  and  me,  my  boy; 
we  may  both  be  bowled  over,  one  up,  t'other  down, 
within  the  next  ten  minutes.  It  would  be  rather  a  lark, 
now,  if  you  only  skipped  across,  came  up  smilin'  t'other 
side,  and  a  hangel  met  you  with  a  B.  and  S.  under  his 
wing.     'UUo,  you'd  s'y:  'come!  I  tyke  this  kind." 

387 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

The  captain  groaned.  While  Huish  was  thus  airing 
and  exercising  his  bravado,  the  man  at  his  side  was 
actually  engaged  in  prayer.  Prayer,  what  for.?  God 
knows.  But  out  of  his  inconsistent,  illogical,  agitated 
spirit,  a  stream  of  supplication  was  poured  forth,  inar- 
ticulate as  himself,  earnest  as  death  and  judgment. 

"Thou  Gawd  seest  me!"  continued  Huish.  'M  re- 
member I  had  that  written  in  my  Bible.  I  remember 
the  Bible,  too,  all  about  Abinadab  and  parties.  Well, 
Gawd!  "  said  he,  apostrophising  the  meridian,  "you're 
goin'  to  see  a  rum  start  presently,  I  promise  you  that! " 

The  captain  bounded. 

"  I'll  have  no  blasphemy!  "  he  cried,  "  no  blasphemy 
in  my  boat." 

"All  right,  cap,"  said  Huish.  "Anything  to  oblige. 
Any  other  topic  you  would  like  to  suggest,  the  ryne- 
gyge,  the  lightnin'  rod,  Shykespeare,  or  the  musical 
glasses  ?  *  Ere's  conversytion  on  tap.  Put  a  penny  in 
the  slot,  and  —  'ullo!  'ere  they  are!"  he  cried.  "Now 
or  never  1    Is  'e  goin'  to  shoot  ?  " 

And  the  little  man  straightened  himself  into  an  alert 
and  dashing  attitude,  and  looked  steadily  at  the  enemy. 

But  the  captain  rose  half  up  in  the  boat,  with  eyes 
protruding. 

"What's  that.?"  he  cried. 

"  Wot's  wot  ?"  said  Huish. 

"Those  blamed  things,"  said  the  captain. 

And  indeed  it  was  something  strange.  Herrick  and 
Attwater,  both  armed  with  Winchesters,  had  appeared 
out  of  the  grove  behind  the  figure-head;  and  to  either 
hand  of  them,  the  sun  glistened  upon  two  metallic  ob- 
jects, locomotory  like  men,  and  occupying  in  the  econ- 

388 


DAVID  AND   GOLIATH 

omy  of  these  creatures  the  places  of  heads, —  only  the 
heads  were  faceless.  To  Davis,  hit  between  wind  and 
water,  his  mythology  appeared  to  have  come  alive,  and 
Tophet  to  be  vomiting  demons.  But  Huish  was  not 
mystified  a  moment. 

''Divers'  'elmets,  you  ninny!  Can't  you  see?"  he 
said. 

' '  So  they  are, "  said  Davis,  with  a  gasp.  *  *  And  why  ? 
Oh,  I  see,  it's  for  armour." 

"Wot  did  I  tell  you.?"  said  Huish.  "Dyvid  and 
Goliar  all  the  w'y  and  back." 

The  two  natives  (for  they  it  was  that  were  equipped 
in  this  unusual  panoply  of  war)  spread  out  to  right  and 
left,  and  at  last  lay  down  in  the  shade,  on  the  extreme 
flank  of  the  position.  Even  now  that  the  mystery  was 
explained,  Davis  was  hatefully  preoccupied,  stared  at 
the  flame  on  their  crests,  and  forgot,  and  then  remem- 
bered with  a  smile,  the  explanation. 

Attwater  withdrew  again  into  the  grove,  and  Herrick, 
with  his  gun  under  his  arm,  came  down  the  pier  alone. 
About  half  way  down  he  halted  and  hailed  the  boat. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  I'll  tell  that  to  Mr.  Attwater,"  replied  Huish,  stepping 
briskly  on  the  ladder.  ''I  don't  tell  it  to  you,  because 
you  plyed  the  trucklin'  sneak.  Here's  a  letter  for  him ; 
tyke  it,  and  give  it,  and  be  'anged  to  you ! " 

"Davis,  is  this  all  right.?"  said  Herrick. 

Davis  raised  his  chin,  glanced  swiftly  at  Herrick  and 
away  again,  and  held  his  peace.  The  glance  was  charged 
with  some  deep  emotion,  but  whether  of  hatred  or  fear, 
it  was  beyond  Herrick  to  divine. 

**  Well,"  he  said,  "I'll  give  the  letter."     He  drew  a 
389 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

score  with  his  foot  on  the  boards  of  the  gangway.  **  Till 
I  bring  the  answer,  don't  move  a  step  past  this." 

And  he  returned  to  where  Attwater  leaned  against  a 
tree,  and  gave  him  the  letter.  Attwater  glanced  it 
through. 

''What  does  that  mean.?"  he  asked,  passing  it  to 
Herrick.     * '  Treachery  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Herrick. 

"Well,  tell  him  to  come  on,"  said  Attwater.  "One 
isn't  a  fatalist  for  nothing.  Tell  him  to  come  on  and 
to  look  out." 

Herrick  returned  to  the  figure-head.  Half  way  down 
the  pier  the  clerk  was  waiting,  with  Davis  by  his  side. 

"  You  are  to  come  along,  Huish,"  said  Herrick.  "  He 
bids  you  look  out,  no  tricks." 

Huish  walked  briskly  up  the  pier,  and  paused  face  to 
face  with  the  young  man. 

"Were  is  'e  ?  "  said  he,  and  to  Herrick's  surprise,  the 
low-bred,  insignificant  face  before  him  flushed  suddenly 
crimson  and  went  white  again. 

"Right  forward,"  said  Herrick,  pointing.  "Now, 
your  hands  above  your  head." 

The  clerk  turned  away  from  him  and  toward  the  fig- 
ure-head, as  though  he  were  about  to  address  to  it  his 
devotions  —  he  was  seen  to  heave  a  deep  breath  —  and 
raised  his  arms.  In  common  with  many  men  of  his 
unhappy  physical  endowments,  Huish's  hands  were 
disproportionately  long  and  broad,  and  the  palms  in 
particular  enormous;  a  four-ounce  jar  was  nothing  in 
that  capacious  fist.  The  next  moment  he  was  plod- 
ding steadily  forward  on  his  mission. 

Herrick  at  first  followed.  Then  a  noise  in  his  rear 
390 


DAVID   AND   GOLIATH 

Startled  him,  and  he  turned  about,  to  find  Davis  already 
advanced  as  far  as  the  figure-head.  He  came,  crouch- 
ing and  open-mouthed,  as  the  mesmerised  may  follow 
the  mesmeriser;  all  human  considerations,  and  even  the 
care  of  his  own  life,  swallowed  up  in  one  abominable 
and  burning  curiosity. 

''Halt!"  cried  Herrick,  covering  him  with  his  rifle. 
*'Davis,what  are  you  doing,  man?  Koz^  are  not  to  come." 

Davis  instinctively  paused,  and  regarded  him  with  a 
dreadful  vacancy  of  eye. 

"  Put  your  back  to  that  figure-head,  do  you  hear  me  ? 
and  stand  fast! "  said  Herrick. 

The  captain  fetched  a  breath,  stepped  back  against 
the  figure-head,  and  instantly  redirected  his  glances 
after  Huish. 

There  was  a  hollow  place  of  the  sand  in  that  part, 
and  as  it  were  a  glade  among  the  cocoa-palms,  in  which 
the  direct  noonday  sun  blazed  intolerably.  At  the  far 
end,  in  the  shadow,  the  tall  figure  of  Attwater  was  to 
be  seen  leaning  on  a  tree.  Toward  him,  with  his  hands 
over  his  head,  and  his  steps  smothered  in  the  sand,  the 
clerk  painfully  waded.  The  surrounding  glare  threw 
out  and  exaggerated  the  man's  smallness;  it  seemed  no 
less  perilous  an  enterprise,  this  that  he  was  gone  upon, 
than  for  a  whelp  to  besiege  a  citadel. 

"There,  Mr.  Whish.  That  will  do,"  cried  Attwater. 
"  From  that  distance,  and  keeping  your  hands  up  like  a 
good  boy,  you  can  very  well  put  me  in  possession  of 
the  skipper's  views." 

The  interval  betwixt  them  was  perhaps  forty  feet;  and 
Huish  measured  it  with  his  eye,  and  breathed  a  curse. 
He  was  already  distressed  with  labouring  in  the  loose 

391 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

sand,  and  his  arms  ached  bitterly  from  their  unnatural 
position.  In  the  palm  of  his  right  hand,  the  jar  was 
ready;  and  his  heart  thrilled,  and  his  voice  choked,  as 
he  began  to  speak. 

"Mr.  Hattwater,"said  he,  "I  don't  know  if  ever  you 
'ad  a  mother " 

''I  can  set  your  mind  at  rest:  I  had,"  returned  Att- 
water.  "  And  henceforth,  if  I  might  venture  to  suggest 
it,  her  name  need  not  recur  in  our  communications.  I 
should  perhaps  tell  you  that  I  am  not  amenable  to  the 
pathetic." 

**  I  am  sorry,  sir,  if  I  'ave  seemed  to  tresparse  on  your 
private  feelin's,"  said  the  clerk,  cringing  and  stealing  a 
step.  *' At  least,  sir,  you  will  never  pe'suade  me  that 
you  are  not  a  perfec'  gentleman.  I  know  a  gentleman 
when  I  see  him;  and  as  such,  I  'ave  no  'esitation  in 
throwin'  myself  on  your  merciful  consideration.  It  is 
'ard  lines,  no  doubt;  it's  'ard  lines  to  have  to  hown  your- 
self beat;  it's  'ard  lines  to  'ave  to  come  and  beg  to  you 
for  charity." 

' '  When,  if  things  had  only  gone  right,  the  whole  place 
was  as  good  as  your  own  ?"  suggested  Att water.  '*I 
can  understand  the  feeling." 

**  You  are  judging  me,  Mr.  Attwater,"  said  the  clerk, 
**and  Gawd  knows  how  unjustly!  '  Tbou  Gawd 
seest  me/  was  the  tex'  I  'ad  in  my  Bible,  w'ich  my  fa- 
ther wrote  it  in  with  'is  own  'and  upon  the  fly  leaft." 

**I  am  sorry  I  have  to  beg  your  pardon  once  more," 
said  Attwater;  ''but  do  you  know,  you  seem  to  me  to 
be  a  trifle  nearer,  which  is  entirely  outside  of  our  bar- 
gain. And  I  would  venture  to  suggest  that  you  take 
one — two — three — steps  back;  and  stay  there." 

392 


DAVID   AND   GOLIATH 

The  devil,  at  this  staggering  disappointment,  looked 
out  of  Huish's  face,  and  Attwater  was  swift  to  suspect. 
He  frowned,  he  stared  on  the  little  man,  and  considered. 
Why  should  he  be  creeping  nearer  ?  The  next  moment 
his  gun  was  at  his  shoulder. 

"  Kindly  oblige  me  by  opening  your  hands.  Open 
your  hands  wide  —  let  me  see  the  fingers  spread,  you 
dog  —  throw  down  that  thing  you're  holding!"  he 
roared,  his  rage  and  certitude  increasing  together. 

And  then,  at  almost  the  same  moment,  the  indomi- 
table Huish  decided  to  throw,  and  Attwater  pulled  the 
trigger.  There  was  scarce  the  difference  of  a  second 
between  the  two  resolves,  but  it  was  in  favour  of 
the  man  with  the  rifle;  and  the  jar  had  not  yet  left 
the  clerk's  hand,  before  the  ball  shattered  both.  For 
the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  wretch  was  in  hell's  ago- 
nies, bathed  in  liquid  flames,  a  screaming  bedlamite; 
and  then  a  second  and  more  merciful  bullet  stretched 
him  dead. 

The  whole  thing  was  come  and  gone  in  a  breath. 
Before  Herrick  could  turn  about,  before  Davis  could 
complete  his  cry  of  horror,  the  clerk  lay  in  the  sand, 
sprawling  and  convulsed. 

Attwater  ran  to  the  body ;  he  stooped  and  viewed  it; 
he  put  his  finger  in  the  vitriol,  and  his  face  whitened 
and  hardened  with  anger. 

Davis  had  not  yet  moved ;  he  stood  astonished,  with 
his  back  to  the  figure-head,  his  hands  clutching  it  be- 
hind him,  his  body  inclined  forward  from  the  waist.  Att- 
water turned  deliberately  and  covered  him  with  his  rifle. 

** Davis,"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  like  a  trumpet,  *'I  give 
you  sixty  seconds  to  make  your  peace  with  God." 

393 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

Davis  looked,  and  his  mind  awoke.  He  did  not 
dream  of  self-defence,  he  did  not  reach  for  his  pistol. 
He  drew  himself  up  instead  to  face  death,  with  a  quiv- 
ering nostril. 

'  *  I  guess  I'll  not  trouble  the  Old  Man, "  he  said.  ' '  Con- 
sidering the  job  I  was  on,  I  guess  it's  better  business  to 
just  shut  my  face." 

Attwater  fired;  there  came  a  spasmodic  movement 
of  the  victim,  and  immediately  above  the  middle  of  his 
forehead,  a  black  hole  marred  the  whiteness  of  the  fig- 
ure-head. A  dreadful  pause;  then  again  the  report,  and 
the  solid  sound  and  jar  of  the  bullet  in  the  wood;  and 
this  time  the  captain  had  felt  the  wind  of  it  along  his 
cheek.  A  third  shot,  and  he  was  bleeding  from  one 
ear;  and  along  the  levelled  rifle,  Attwater  smiled  like 
a  red  Indian. 

The  cruel  game  of  which  he  was  the  puppet  was 
now  clear  to  Davis;  three  times  he  had  drunk  of  death, 
and  he  must  look  to  drink  of  it  seven  times  more  be- 
fore he  was  despatched.     He  held  up  his  hand. 

''Steady!"  he  cried,  'M'll  take  your  sixty  seconds." 

''Good!"  said  Attwater. 

The  captain  shut  his  eyes  tight,  like  a  child ;  he  held 
his  hands  up  at  last  with  a  tragic  and  ridiculous  gesture. 

"  My  God,  for  Christ's  sake,  look  after  my  two  kids," 
he  said;  and  then  after  a  pause  and  a  falter,  "for 
Christ's  sake.     Amen." 

And  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  down  the  rifle 
with  a  quivering  mouth. 

"But  don't  keep  fooling  me  long!"  he  pleaded. 

"That  all  your  prayer?"  asked  Attwater,  with  a 
singular  ring  in  his  voice. 

394 


DAVID  AND   GOLIATH 

''Guess  so,"  said  Davis. 

''  So  ?  "  said  Attwater,  resting  the  butt  of  his  rifle  on 
the  ground,  '*is  that  done?  Is  your  peace  made  with 
Heaven?  Because  it  is  with  me.  Go,  and  sin  no 
more,  sinful  father.  And  remember  that  whatever  you 
do  to  others,  God  shall  visit  it  again  a  thousand  fold 
upon  your  innocents." 

The  wretched  Davis  came  staggering  forward  from 
his  place  against  the  figure-head,  fell  upon  his  knees, 
and  waved  his  hands  and  fainted. 

When  he  came  to  himself  again,  his  head  was  on 
Attwater's  arm,  and  close  by  stood  one  of  the  men  in 
divers'  helmets,  holding  a  bucket  of  water,  from  which 
his  late  executioner  now  laved  his  face.  The  memory 
of  that  dreadful  passage  returned  upon  him  in  a  clap ; 
again  he  saw  Huish  lying  dead,  again  he  seemed  to 
himself  to  totter  on  the  brink  of  an  unplumbed  eter- 
nity. With  trembling  hands  he  seized  hold  of  the  man 
whom  he  had  come  to  slay;  and  his  voice  broke  from 
him  like  that  of  a  child  among  the  nightmares  of  fever: 
*'0h!  isn't  there  no  mercy?  Oh!  what  must  I  do  to 
be  saved  ?  " 

"Ah ! "  thought  Attwater,/*  here  is  the  true  penitent." 


395 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  TAIL-PIECE 

On  a  very  bright,  hot,  lusty,  strongly  blowing  noon,  a 
fortnight  after  the  events  recorded,  and  a  month  since 
the  curtain  rose  upon  this  episode,  a  man  might  have 
been  spied  praying  on  the  sand  by  the  lagoon  beach,  A 
point  of  palm-trees  isolated  him  from  the  settlement; 
and  from  the  place  where  he  knelt,  the  only  work  of 
man's  hand  that  interrupted  the  expanse  was  the 
schooner  FaraUone,  her  berth  quite  changed,  and  rock- 
ing at  anchor  some  two  miles  to  windward  in  the 
midst  of  the  lagoon.  The  noise  of  the  Trade  ran  very 
boisterous  in  all  parts  of  the  island ;  the  nearer  palm- 
trees  crashed  and  whistled  in  the  gusts,  those  farther 
off  contributed  a  humming  bass,  like  the  roar  of  cities; 
and  yet,  to  any  man  less  absorbed,  there  must  have 
risen  at  times  over  this  turmoil  of  the  winds  the  sharper 
note  of  the  human  voice  from  the  settlement.  There 
all  was  activity.  Attwater,  stripped  to  his  trousers  and 
lending  a  strong  hand  of  help,  was  directing  and  en- 
couraging five  Kanakas;  from  his  lively  voice,  and  their 
more  lively  efforts,  it  was  to  be  gathered  that  some 
sudden  and  joyful  emergency  had  set  them  in  this  bustle ; 
and  the  '* Union  Jack"  floated  once  more  on  its  staff. 
But  the  suppliant  on  the  beach,  unconscious  of  their 

396 


A  TAIUPIECE 

voices,  prayed  on  with  instancy  and  fervour,  and  the 
sound  of  his  voice  rose  and  fell  again,  and  his  counte- 
nance brightened  and  was  deformed  with  changing 
moods  of  piety  and  terror. 

Before  his  closed  eyes,  the  skiff  had  been  for  some 
time  tacking  towards  the  distant  and  deserted  Faral- 
lone ;  and  presently  the  figure  of  Herrick  might  have 
been  observed  to  board  her,  to  pass  for  a  while  into  the 
house,  thence  forward  to  the  forecastle,  and  at  last  to 
plunge  into  the  main  hatch.  In  all  these  quarters,  his 
visit  was  followed  by  a  coil  of  smoke;  and  he  had 
scarce  entered  his  boat  again  and  shoved  off,  before 
flames  broke  forth  upon  the  schooner.  They  burned 
gayly;  kerosene  had  not  been  spared,  and  the  bellows 
of  the  Trade  incited  the  conflagration.  About  half-way 
on  the  return  voyage,  when  Herrick  looked  back,  he 
beheld  the  FaraUone  wrapped  to  the  topmasts  in  leap- 
ing arms  of  fire,  and  the  voluminous  smoke  pursuing 
him  along  the  face  of  the  lagoon.  In  one  hour's  time, 
he  computed,  the  waters  would  have  closed  over  the 
stolen  ship.  It  so  chanced  that,  as  his  boat  flew  before 
the  wind  with  much  vivacity,  and  his  eyes  were  con- 
tinually busy  in  the  wake,  measuring  the  progress  of 
the  flames,  he  found  himself  embayed  to  the  northward 
of  the  point  of  palms,  and  here  became  aware  at  the 
same  time  of  the  figure  of  Davis  immersed  in  his 
devotion.  An  exclamation,  part  of  annoyance,  part  of 
amusement,  broke  from  him,  and  he  touched  the  helm 
and  ran  the  prow  upon  the  beach  not  twenty  feet 
from  the  unconscious  devotee.  Taking  the  painter  in 
his  hand,  he  landed,  drew  near,  and  stood  over  him. 
And  still  the  voluble  and  incoherent  stream  of  prayer 

397 


THE  EBB  TIDE 

continued  unabated.  It  was  not  possible  for  him  to 
overhear  the  suppliant's  petitions,  which  he  listened  to 
some  while  in  a  very  mingled  mood  of  humour  and  pity, 
and  it  was  only  when  his  own  name  began  to  occur 
and  to  be  conjoined  with  epithets,  that  he  at  last  laid 
his  hand  on  the  captain's  shoulder. 

** Sorry  to  interrupt  the  exercise,"  said  he,  **but  I 
want  you  to  look  at  the  FaraUone.'' 

The  captain  scrambled  to  his  feet,  and  stood  gasping 
and  staring.  **Mr.  Herrick,  don't  startle  a  man  like 
that!  "  he  said.  *M  don't  seem  someways  rightly  my- 
self since — "  he  broke  off.  **  What  did  you  say,  any- 
way? Oh,  the  FaraUone/*  and  he  looked  languidly 
out. 

''  Yes,"  said  Herrick,  **  there  she  burns;  and  you  may 
guess  from  that  what  the  news  is." 

**The  Trinity  Hall,  I  guess,"  said  the  captain. 

**The  same,"  said  Herrick,  **  sighted  half  an  hour 
ago,  and  coming  up  hand  over  fist." 

"Well,  it  don't  amount  to  a  hill  of  beans,"  said  the 
captain,  with  a  sigh. 

"Oh,  come,  that's  rank  ingratitude!"  cried  Herrick. 

"Well,"  replied  the  captain,  meditatively,  "you 
mayn't  just  see  the  way  that  I  view  it  in,  but  I'd  'most 
rather  stay  here  upon  this  island.  I  found  peace  here, 
peace  in  believing.  Yes,  I  guess  this  island  is  about 
good  enough  for  John  Davis." 

"I  never  heard  such  nonsense!"  cried  Herrick. 
"What!  with  all  turning  out  in  your  favour  the  way 
it  does, — the  Farallone  wiped  out,  the  crew  disposed 
of,  a  sure  thing  for  your  wife  and  family,  and  you  your- 
self Attwater's  spoiled  darling  and  pet  penitent!" 

398 


A  TAIL-PIECE 

"Now,  Mr.  Herrick,  don't  say  that,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, gently,  "when  you  know  he  don't  make  no  differ- 
ence between  us.  But,  oh,  why  not  be  one  of  us? 
Why  not  come  to  Jesus  right  away,  and  let's  meet  in 
yon  beautiful  land  ?  That's  just  the  one  thing  wanted; 
just  say  *Lord,  I  believe,  help  Thou  mine  unbelief!* 
and  He'll  fold  you  in  His  arms.  You  see,  I  know;  I 
been  a  sinner  myself." 


399 


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